


The Holy Father Made his Mark

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels and Devils, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gift Giving, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Physical Abuse, Rating May Change, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Graves, accidental sugar daddy, all gradence is sugar daddy au waiting to happen amiright, references to other fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: Guardian Angel or not, Credence Barebone has a mysterious benefactor, and slowly begins to suspect the handsome stranger who watches him from across the street of being said gift giver.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nevospitanniy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevospitanniy/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the summary is 5x better than the actual story oops. i don't own this story its mainly due to the amazing outline and beta help of http://nevospitanniy.tumblr.com/
> 
> she also made the BADASS graphics.
> 
> its multiple parts and almost complete so there will be regular updates.

* * *

There has been something crawling under his skin, electric, and alive, like a chance, a dream, a wish, a possibility, over the last few days. A glimmer of hope that he might someday be able to escape the hell that can only be described as his daily life.

Wake up, pray to anyone who’s listening, try to stomach a disgusting gruel, take a wad of pamphlets and go out and prepare to be spat on, ignored, or even pushed to the ground.

The words on the papers aren’t his own, and he’s not even sure if he believes them anymore, it’s just a routine.

Part of his life.

Like he was born hating witches.

But it’s because of his background, his past, it’s in his blood. He _must_ hate witches, or else he’ll be in danger of being seduced, of becoming one, somehow.

That’s what Mary Lou tells him.

It’s why she beats him hardest, the most often.

He has needed it since he came to her care.

That’s what she says.

The first time he felt different, felt actually alive, was the day from a week when he’d met an actual witch.

She had been kind, she seeming like she was willing to listen, like she wanted to take him away, give him some food, and yes, it might have been poisoned, she might have been lying, but he really didn’t think so. It was the hardest test of his life to say no, _no thank you._

She still defended him from Mary Lou, and looked sad, so very sad, when she had to leave, and no one else remembered her, no one else but Credence.

It was magic.

Of course it was.

A few days late, he was sure he’d encountered magic or something like it again.

He saw a man who didn’t belong, walk in two minutes after the latest meeting had begun, and he sat in the back row, towards the end, keeping to himself.

It didn’t matter, Credence would have seen him anyway, and could still pick him out of a crowd for just staring that moment.

Dark hair, framed by silver at his temples, and dark eyes, with heavy brows framing his face, the man eyed Credence steadily, never once glancing towards Mary Lou who was speaking, always at him. He smiled after a moment, and Credence felt his eyes widen.

He swore the room had begun to close in on him, and he could hear his heart beating in his chest, feel every blink of his eyes, and he finally had to look away, down to the stacks of papers in his hands, all that he had to cling to as he waited for the end, waited for his chance.

Mary Lou didn’t so much as nudge him as shove him down the aisle, so he could begin distributing the pamphlets, and he did, faithfully, all the way until he got to the back row, where once again he tried to meet the stranger’s eye.

“Thank you.”

The man’s voice was smooth, even, and with a touch of a rasp, like he hadn’t used it all day, saved his words just for Credence to hear.

His cheeks flushed and he nodded, before moving on to the next visitor.

The back rows were always new people.

When his hands are empty and he can only stare at his own ugly scars, he dares to look over, to see if the man could still be seen watching him.

He was gone.

Credence tried to stamp down the raw, angry despair that welled up inside of him. Life will go on. _He wasn’t there for you, wasn’t there to save you._ That was what he told himself.

The man was just an anomaly. Passing through.

Pure chance and accident that he came to the New Salem Philanthropic Society meeting.

Credence couldn’t sleep all night, yet when he finally did, he saw the man with the blue scarf in his dreams.

*

Tina had begged, pleaded for him to go and see if the children were okay, if the one boy in particular was. If any of them had _any_ magical potential in them, no amount of beatings and fear tactics would suppress the power forever.

Percival had sighed, and waved her away, told her to go back to her desk, busy herself with tasks that couldn’t harm anyone, that wouldn’t lead to a team of Aurors being needed to obliviate half a block.

But deep down, the thought kept bothering him.

There hadn’t been an Obscurial in America in dozens of years, since the actual Salem Witch Trials, and as paranoid as the thought might have been, Tina was right.

An atmosphere like the current one was ripe for such a disaster.

Percival glanced to his clock, and got up from his desk a moment later. He was just taking a walk, he reasoned with himself. Going to have a late lunch. No one stopped him.

The church building wasn’t very far away, it was across from the wizarding and No-Maj shared bank, and people were still trickling inside.

The woman’s babbling nonsense about how witches were evil, and surely had been the true cause of the latest war wasn’t _quite_ annoying enough to make his ears bleed, but almost.

Percival took a seat in the back of the room and glanced around, spotting two blond girls sitting to one side of the woman, and then on her left was a cowering figure, a dark haired boy, no, young man, with shaky hands clinging to a stack of papers.

Ah.

That had to be the one Tina had been concerned about.

He looked very much like someone who’d been under a thumb his entire life, even the way he held himself, though the woman beside him wasn’t looking at him, it was as if he feared even her sensing an ounce of disobedience.

Percival’s hands balled into fists, and he stuffed them into his coat pockets. The boy was carefully eyeing the room, perhaps to make note of new people, and when his gaze fell upon Percival, he tried to give him a smile, or at least a semblance of one.

* * *

 

The boy looked a bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

Hollow cheeks and clothing that seemed to hang off of his body, not being worn properly as it should be, and a hat that he seemed to be hiding under for most of the meeting.

He was the picture of a beautiful tragedy, and that was when Percival made the decision, he knew, he felt it deep down inside his gut, helping him was the right thing to do. Somehow, Tina had been exactly correct.

There was a trace of magic in the building, and it certainly didn’t cling to any of the adults, it swirled and coalesced near the children. One of them, maybe the boy too, had some amount of power.

When the ‘sermon’ ended, and the children began walking amongst the crowd, handing out their leaflets, he braced himself, preparing for the worst, as if they were trained to find magic as much as they were told to hate it, and they’d see right through him.

Instead of one of the pinch faced girls who looked as if they could indeed smell magic, it was the older boy who approached him, and his hand shook as he held out a paper, looking right at him.

Percival took it, and wary of smiling again, simply thanked the boy.

He pulled back and retreated like he’d been burned, and the skittish movement only confirmed what he suspected already.

He’d probably never known a kind word in his life, judging by that.

Three days later, he was standing outside MACUSA and watching the children, all either raggedy clad waifs or one of the three adoptees, patrolling the streets, as far as five blocks down from the church, holding out their hands, not for money, but to pass along their ‘knowledge’ and Percival could see the boy shivering.

When a fourth person walked past him and nearly knocked him over, Percival knew he needed to leave, lest he get involved.

But it was too late.

The boy had looked up, over and spotted him.

Again, someone brushed past him, and the eye contact broke as the boy fell backwards, and Percival cursed under his breath, crossing the street without even looking, coat swirling in the cold breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i'm working on a westworld au before the victorian au with clutchhedonist OOPS no chill


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The pain of the concrete as it rushed up to meet him was nothing, and he braced his palms behind him to save his spine, while he tried not to cry out as he let go of the fliers.

That was what really mattered.

Losing those would mean an extra beating.

Credence curled backwards a bit, away from the passing crowd, and ignored the sting of his hands, in favor of getting to his knees and picking up as many pamphlets as he could manage, never mind the blood on them.

“Are you all right?”

A voice broke into his worried and scattered thoughts, and Credence looked up to see the man from the last couple meetings, always the back row, always watching him.

He was holding out a perfectly manicured, scar-free hand, and Credence could only stare, surely the man didn’t mean to touch him?

The fingers wiggled a little, and he blinked,

“Come on, take it. Let me help you.”

 Credence gulped, and did as he was told, wondering if he could be infused with warmth and strength from just contact from another human being.

He was on his feet in seconds, the man had to be very muscular beneath the many layers of his coat and vest and scarf, Credence supposed. Then he was still staring at the fliers, smeared with crimson and then the blood which he’d accidentally gotten on the man’s hand.

“I’m sorry I –”

“You’re hurt.”

The man didn’t seem to care about the mess, just the fact that _he_ was injured. That was kind of him.

Credence had a sudden mad thought, maybe the man knew the kind witch, and maybe they were friends. Could witches be friends with angels, if indeed that was what the man was? His Guardian Angel, sent, far too late in his opinion, to save him?

The man snapped his fingers, and suddenly the street sounds were muffled, like when Credence would dip below the surface in the bath, and water would fill his ears, wiping away the world. Credence couldn’t even feel the breeze anymore and there was a hand atop his own, moving roughly but not hurtful.

He looked down to see the cuts and bits of gravel from the sidewalk melting away, and his skin was healing, blood vanishing.

The man could perform miracles.

He gulped.

“That’s better isn’t it? Now, what’s wrong? You’re crying.”

Credence blinked, and he didn’t even remember having gotten upset, but he could feel cold dampness on his cheeks,

“I was worried about my papers…”

The man was smiling now, and flicking his hand towards the ground, and then suddenly a neat stack of the pamphlets was setting on his palm, as if carried by the wind, being held out to Credence.

“See? No harm done.”

Credence took them, stammering out his thanks, and the man nodded,

“You’re quite welcome. Now, tell me your name. I’m Percival Graves.”

“Credence.”

He wasn’t sure if he should give his last name, nor if he wanted to. He hated it.

He hated everything those days, except the man in front of him, he supposed.

Frowning, he suddenly felt the question welling up before he could stop it.

“Who are you? Really? You’ve been coming to the meetings, and you always watch me, but you can’t possibly be listening…”

It was as if he’d spat fire at the man, so embarrassed he felt, the heat curling in his cheeks, threatening to make him dissolve into ash right then and there. No angel would tell a mortal what they were, not if they didn’t want to.

The man, the Mister Graves smiled again, and Credence wondered if the creature under his skin could breathe from just the sight of such a thing.

“I’ll tell you the truth Credence, because I trust you. I came at the advice of a friend. Your organization is very… interesting. Now unfortunately I can’t stay and chat, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again. You be careful now, all right?”

Mister Graves looked as if he wanted to say more, but Credence could hear again, the streets noise, the honking of cars, the chatter of strangers, and he was walking away, taking a turn down an alleyway, and gone.

Credence swallowed and looked at his hands, still marveling at the miracle that had occurred, and he wondered if the man _was_ actually an angel, sent down to reward him for enduring, for being faithful, even through all the trials and tribulations he’d experienced.

He hoped so.

He prayed extra hard that night.

* * *

 

_‘What the fuck am I doing?’_

Percival pressed his forehead against the hard brick of the alleyway wall, and tried to think, tried to do anything but just picture the boy, Credence, and failed.

What he’d done was far beyond any favor Tina had ever asked of him, and he was now looking at having spent over two weeks _‘keeping an eye’_ on the Second Salemers.

Healing the boy beneath a shield of _notice-me-not_ and actually giving him his real name fell outside the realm of _‘surveillance for threat assessment’_ work.

He was in too deep, too fast.

There was also the matter of the scars he’d noticed on the _back_ of the boy’s hands, and they were not from any accident, no amount of tripping or falling would leave such a mark.

He gritted his teeth, and fisted his hands in his pockets again, before turning on his heel, apparating back to the lobby of MACUSA.

Work still needed to be done, but he was not about to just abandon the boy to the monstrous woman he was under the ‘care’ of.

The next morning, in lieu of suffering through another Second Salemer meeting, Percival decided to send over a trinket, a treat, something that might brighten the boy’s day.

Passing the block where Credence was standing, arm outstretched, propaganda flier in hand, Percival flicked his wand at the closest step, and a bright round orange appeared, with a note in gold script beside it.

He’d disillusioned himself, so the boy couldn’t possibly spot him, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he watched Credence’s attention become diverted.

The note read, “For Credence, and not to be shared.”

It was just a piece of fruit, but it to the boy; it might have been a block of gold, for so in awe did he look.

Percival fought the urge to pinch himself, and kept walking.

Safe in his office, he was surprised to be almost yanked out of his thoughts by a knocking on the door, and when he looked up, he saw Tina herself.

“Mister Graves? Do you have any news? Is Credence doing okay?”

He sighed.

“Yes Miss Goldstein. The children all are healthy looking, and you have nothing to worry about.”

Tina stepped inside his office, just slightly, and he tried to keep the annoyance from his face. He felt as if she was invaded his territory.

“But Credence, the one I told you about… the thin and tall dark haired one…”

_The cute one._

Percival’s mind supplied suddenly, unwarranted, and he merely blinked,

“Yes, yes of course. I just saw him a few days ago. Boring and awful meetings they have. He looked… well.”

“Are you tracking them for any reason? Or just because of me?”

Percival fought the urge to roll his eyes,

“Miss Goldstein, threat assessment is always a top priority. I’m just ensuring they can be properly eliminated. Anti-Magical sentiment was on the rise long before they ever set foot in our city.”

Tina nodded, and began to back away, but then seemed to think of more to say,

“You know he’s no threat right? He’d never hurt a fly.”

“Yes. I have determined that Credence is not a threat.”

Tina’s lips quirked,

“And that’s your final assessment?”

Percival sighed,

“I’m not done with the rest of them, but so far, yes.”

She didn’t appear impressed or even mollified, but she finally did leave, and Percival was alone with his thoughts again. He couldn’t help dwelling a little on her words.

Credence might not hurt anyone willingly, and yet even after all he’d seemed to bear, he could still be so polite, as if he feared even a stranger would offer nothing but hatred. Like the hatred his guardian preached.

Percival wanted to change that, desperately so.

Gifts wouldn’t be enough after a while. He needed to be talked to. To be shown that anyone, even a wizard or witch could be kind, could be given a chance.

Percival groaned and glanced at the clock, it wasn’t time to escape yet, but he could go take a smoking break.

He was almost dying for a cigarette.

* * *

 

A few a days later on his way to his favorite spot, there was something shiny in the corner of the bottom step that led to the bank, and Credence caught sight of it immediately. He glanced around himself, but no one was taking notice, no one was stopping him or running into him, so he moved closer, and crouched down to look.

It was a candy bar, wrapped in purple and gold.

No sign of a note, but somehow, he knew, it was meant for him.

So he took it.

He was halfway through his stack of fliers, so he could take a break, a moment, to just try it. It was highly unlikely he’d make it very far into the church without it being spotted, and possibly taken from him, as well as an extra beating for being so selfish.

So he would be selfish anyway, and no one would have to know.

The nearest alleyway was abandoned, but for a couple trash cans and the faint meow of a cat probably hiding in one, so Credence went to lean against a wall, hugging the shadows, and tucked his remaining papers into his one of his threadbare pockets, before pulling the bar out from his other one, and he just cradled it in his palm for a moment, treasuring the sight of something so beautiful.

So special.

He couldn’t quite read the fancy script on the back, likely describing the ingredients, why it would be bad for him to eat on an empty stomach, and instead he tried to open it as careful as he could, without tearing the logo.

It was chocolate, with flecks of almond.

Just breaking off a small piece was a nearly magical moment, and the second he put it in his mouth, he nearly swooned.

Real sugar, and the flavor of the chocolate, with the nuttiness of the almond was unbelievably good, and he was having another piece, a bit bigger, before he could stop himself.

If Mister Graves was an angel, than chocolate was what Heaven must taste like.

He hadn’t seen the man in many days, many meetings with hopeful glances to the back of the room, only to find the back rows empty of the familiar broad shoulders and well dressed frame.

He once thought he’d seen the dark haired lady, with her navy cap, but he’d looked again and it wasn’t her. Maybe the man had gotten tired of seeing Credence, thought him hideous, unworthy.

Perhaps God had given him a new mission.

Angels probably had real work to do, just like humans, but it was divine purpose, so Credence knew he couldn’t be too upset really, he was just grateful he’d met him as much as he had.

The chocolate bar lasted about one more minute, and then Credence knew he’d been gone long enough anyway, it was time to return to the street, and finish his own work for the day.

He licked his lips carefully, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, ensuring no traces of the forbidden treasure could be spotted by either of his eagle eyed sisters, and then walked back out into the mild sunlight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be blessed cause i finally kicked my ex- fuckboi to the curb

Percival was biting the back of his own fist to keep silent as he’d watched the boy devour the candy bar he’d left for him, and it was possibly the worst choice for his lunch break he’d ever taken. He should have left the treat and run, and not lingered.

But he had.

Oh the sounds that Credence made were beyond indecent, they should have been illegal, bottled up and sold on the black market.

He apparated back to MACUSA and made a beeline for the men’s restroom, finding the closest stall and casting a muffling charm, before undoing his pants and taking himself in hand.

He’d only had the problem happen to him at work once or twice before. A pretty intern here, a bookish and shy assistant there. He’d never ever compromise himself by actually pursuing any interest at his place of work, but he’d been almost tempted before.

Nothing like this.

From the moment he’d healed Credence and started trying to play the generous friend, he’d lost more and more control.

Feeling out of control of his own mind, unable to keep even such an innocent and kind gesture from becoming something dark and hot and twisted was just, the icing on the cake.

Of course, it was why he’d originally wanted to stay anonymous, and he’d broken that rule pretty damn fast, so what was a little more bending?

With no need to be quiet there, Percival pressed his hand against the side of the stall, and groaned out his release, pumping his hand as fast as he could over his cock, trying to aim carefully, but it never was a perfect process.

He leaned on the wall for a moment, catching his breath, before waving a hand and dissipating the charm and cleaning up his mess.

It was more than time for another cigarette.

The next venture he took was to finally approach Credence, with the offer of tea, during his lunch break a few days later, and he suggested it would be good for them both to get out of the cold, never mind the fact he’d only just left the MACUSA building and was far from cold, but clearly, the boy before him was, shivering and shaking in his thin coat.

He was still hunching over, as if trying to appear smaller whether from habit or by necessity and was shaking his head firmly, insisting he couldn’t leave or his mother would know.

“Even for a cup of tea? It would only take a moment…”

Percival never begged, never, and there he was, _begging_ a No-Maj to have tea with him. He didn’t even _like_ tea.

“I c-c-can’t, I’m sorry sir.”

Well, bless the boy’s manners, but Percival didn’t care, and wasn’t going to truly take no for an answer.

“That’s all right. I understand. Don’t go anywhere now.”

He winked, and then crossed the street, down a block or two, and found the café he’d been planning on going into, and enjoying at least a handful of moments of conversation with the boy, and instead ordered two cups of tea to go.

When he returned to the block Credence was still huddling at, only a few feet away from a bench that he wondered why the boy wasn’t sitting on, he held out the first cup, and the boy’s eyes widened.

“If you can’t come to the tea, the tea will come to you.”

Percival quipped, and the boy was already putting away his fliers, accepting the hot container gratefully, before his words could catch up.

He hated seeing him so cold, and he hated performing atmospheric magic, so he wordlessly charmed the bench, and sat down, patting the spot beside him,

“Please, sit. You’re not leaving your post. You’re fine.”

Reluctantly, Credence did as he was told, and didn’t even seem surprised when he began to feel warm, from where his legs and back touched the seat.

“How’s the tea?”

Percival took a sip of his own, the only kind he would stand, as long as it was strong as coffee, earl grey with just a splash of milk and honey, and eyed the boy who tried his, and looked pleased.

“Very good sir, thank you.”

His cheeks were pinking, whether from the sudden warmth of the drink or because he was finally no longer freezing.

“You like oranges hmm?”

The tea was a blend of oranges and lemon, with honey for sweetness, and Credence ducked his head, nodding. Percival wondered if he was thinking of the citrus _someone_ had left for him a week and a half back.

“We don’t usually have anything like this at home.”

Percival took another sip of his tea and nodded,

“I suppose not. The church budget has better things to do than feed its starving patrons right?”

The sarcasm went over Credence’s head, and he just shrugged and looked away, almost as if he wanted to agree. Percival sighed, and muttered under his breath, casting a _notice-me-not_ before someone from either his work or from the Second Salemers spotted them chatting. He didn’t need any awkward questions.

“Why are you doing this for me? Are you my guardian angel?”

Credence asked suddenly, and Percival nearly dropped his tea.

“What?”

Credence was still blushing,

“I just thought, people never do anything for anyone else, outside the church, if they don’t want something in return…”

Percival blinked, and his mind was flooded of images, helpful suggestions to as to just how Credence could fulfill his wishes and give him many great things in return. Oh he was a benefactor indeed, and he had not yet set how he could collect.

No.

He wasn’t going to.

He was… he was doing it all out of the goodness of his heart.

That lie was foul even to his taste.

He wasn’t sure how to answer, so he set his half filled cup down, and reached into his jacket, pulling out his nearly empty pack of cigarettes, which he’d dutifully plowed through in the last week, every time he thought of Credence, he’d go smoke instead. Now, he was _with_ Credence and needed a distraction.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Credence looked over at him, tugging out one of the sticks, tapping it on the top of the pack, and just before Percival brought it to his lips, the boy shook his head.

“Great.”

He smirked, and then lit the cigarette with a flick of his finger, inhaling deeply, and holding the smoke until it burned just so, and exhaled.

Credence watched him for more than a few seconds, and Percival started to feel a bit uncomfortable,

“My mother says that those can kill people.”

Percival bit back a laugh,

“Well, considering the rate most people smoke, yes. Only just recently have I become more of a,” He paused, unsure how to word it in a way that wouldn’t condemn him too far in the boy’s eyes, “regular smoker. But every once and a while, I don’t know. Calms the nerves, sooths the soul… all of that sort of thing.”

Credence took another sip of his tea, and then set his cup down so easily Percival knew it was empty. That was fast.

As if he’d expected it to vanish if he didn’t drink it fast enough. The boy’s eyes were watering, and his face was becoming redder, and Percival knew it wasn’t from cold.

“Are you all right?”

Credence nodded, unable or not willing to speak.

Percival huffed out a stream of white smoke,

“No, you’re not. Open your mouth.”

Credence’s eyes widened, and Percival tried not to think of all the other connotations to a phrase like that, but it was too late to take the words back. But when he saw how red the boy’s tongue was, he could only imagine his throat probably hurt too. He pushed the guilt down, and pasted on a sympathetic smile

He shifted an arm to rest on the back of the bench, behind the boy’s shoulders, and he could feel the boy shudder. Well that was just great.

So helpful.

“You didn’t need to drink that tea like that.”

He put his hand to the boy’s arm on his other side, and Credence closed his mouth, licking his lips suddenly, the healing charm taking effect, though likely he didn’t realize what it was.

“Oh. I’m sorry. It was just so good.”

Percival took another long drag of his cigarette and lamented how quick it was burning.

“Yes, I understand. Please, try to savor the things I give you. I don’t want anything but your happiness in return. I want you to remember that.”

He braced himself against the boy, a semblance of a hug, and he could feel the boy’s body relaxing, just slightly. The pain from accidentally burning his mouth was gone, and he could just absorb the warmth surrounding him.

Credence didn’t even question why people weren’t looking as them as they walked by, and before Percival knew it, his lunch break was over. He didn’t quite chug the rest of his own tea, now cold, but close to it.

He stood up, and brushed the front of his coat and pants off, as if there was any way he’d collected dust in the time he’d been sitting, and he realized he was going to need to make a final stop before returning to his office.

Fuck.

“Mister Graves… thank you. I hope that even if you can’t come to another meeting, I can see you again.”

He turned to the boy, wrapping his coat more firmly around himself, and he smiled,

“Of course. I apologize for neglecting the meetings, but I’ve been rather, busy at work.”

Credence nodded, looking more than understanding, and still curious, but Percival needed to leave, needed to go before he did anything stupid, like kiss those perfect pink lips that had parted so easily at his demand.

* * *

 

The creature that lives under his skin has a name, but Credence doesn’t want to speak it aloud, so he only allows himself to think of it at night, and it comes to him in dreams, whispering what he should do, can do, _will_ do, if he really wants to keep Mister Graves.

The man cannot be an angel; it’s been proven, confirmed. Angels cannot sin.

Therefore, angels don’t smoke, because smoking is a sin, a filthy and disgusting habit. Credence knows that because he’s heard Mary Lou espouse on it many a time.

Mister Graves cannot be an angel if he smokes.

He smokes a lot.

Credence found that he could not stop staring, the next time the man came by to see him.

While Credence had perched on the opposite side of the street, in front of the bank, but off to the side, in case anything appeared on the bottom step, in that same spot.

Instead of a treat, it was the man himself. He comes over to Credence with a smile, and a greeting, and then he just began to lean against the wall flanking the stairs, smoking, and it felt like the world went silent again, as it often did when they’re together.

Credence knew it was not just his imagination, because one day Mister Graves came to him, and it was raining, but he made it stop, just over them. Angel wings extended, but invisible?

No. That was already decided.

The rain had seemed to curve around the space they took up, and Credence looked around himself in wonderment for a moment, before his gaze was captured by the man himself, and how he smoked.

Every time he did it, it was almost obscene, the slow way in which he’d pluck a cigarette from his case, new, silver, and it closed with a click, before placing it in his mouth, just slightly between his lips, and he’d light it without a match, as if with the Devil’s own power.

Eventually Mister Graves must have grown tired of him staring, and he asked,

“Do you not like me doing this? I can stop if you wish…”

Credence was already shaking his head, and his eyes never faltered from how Mister Graves’ mouth wrapped around the slim tube,

“No, it’s fine. I mean, my mother says smoking is filthy.  But I can’t judge you for it. Only God is allowed to do so.”

Mister Graves was smiling, and laughing a little, a raspy sort of growl that shot a jolt of energy into the creature resting inside Credence’s chest.

“I see. What if you ever want to try it? What then?”

The man was meeting Credence’s curious stare, and he hadn’t even meant to, hadn’t known how much he was saying with just his eyes, until he was holding out a cautious hand,

“Could I?”

Mister Graves obliged him, taking the cigarette from between his lips, and passing it over. Credence was careful not to touch the end that smoldered and glowed orange, and he brought it to his own mouth, imitating the man as best he could,

“Just breathe in, slowly now.”

Credence could taste mint, and he was surprised, he didn’t think cigarettes were supposed to taste good, or like anything at all but smoke itself, and he did, but the burning hit, and he was coughing, his eyes closed tight, throat feeling bitter and scratched, as if the creature inside him was trying to choke him.

“Whoa now… guess we can cross that one off the list eh? Not for everyone, not to worry.”

Mister Graves had already taken the cigarette from his hands, and was clapping him soundly on the back, just over a fresh scar from the belt, so he winced freely, hoping it would be disguised as pain from the coughing.

“S-sorry.”

Mister Graves drew a deep breath of the smoke, and Credence couldn’t help thinking that now he’d touched him on his lips now, by proxy.

“It’s quite all right. Don’t apologize. One less thing to be addicted to in this world. A sin you can freely avoid.”

Credence nodded.

“Why does it taste like that?”

He couldn’t resist asking.

Couldn’t take his eyes off the man now, as he licked his lips and looked thoughtful, holding the cigarette between his fingers, letting it gently burn,

“It’s probably the menthol, it’s my favorite thing about no-ma—uh, these cigarettes, they’re different than the rest. Plain ones just don’t taste as good to me.”

He smiled at Credence, and then broke the stare to take another pull. Credence drew a deep breath of fresh air himself, and wondered if it was minimal tobacco that had him feeling shaky.

He suspected not.

That night, when he fell into his dreams, he saw Mister Graves.

Not just any sort of way, he was touching him, fingers pressed to his lips, and words he couldn’t quite comprehend, but he could swear he read something in the man’s eyes.

 Credence wanted to put his mouth on Mister Graves’ mouth, and taste the mint that way, and so he did, and his dream changed, grew more abstract, until it was just a blur of hands and bodies twisting, all the while he felt as if he was dying of happiness.

It was all Mister Graves wanted for him after all.

He woke up sweaty, with a familiar dampness in his pants, an aching hotness itching and crawling on his skin, and his heartbeat racing so fast he thought he might have fallen out of bed but for the rough scratch of the sheets beneath him.

Blinking up at the ceiling, he wondered what would happen the next time he saw the man, and if he could ever discover how it was he did what he did.

Was he the Devil? Or was he just a regular fallen angel, performing such feats that angels did but with twisted intentions?

He was featured so handsomely, he could _have been_ the devil, easily enough. Come to tempt Credence to turn from the path of goodness and light and join him in the depths of darkness.

Credence wondered what he’d say to that.

He smiled slightly to himself, and turned over, trying to get back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

“I saw you yesterday sir. I saw you talking with the boy. Giving him a drink. Bringing him a pastry. What do you think he is? Some kind of pet? You know this goes seriously close to breaking protocol.”

Percival had barely walked up to charm the lock on his office when Tina was upon him, throwing accusations as easily as mouse charmed memos.

“Okay, good morning to you too Miss Goldstein.”

“Ignoring the facts isn’t going to help your case sir. You can’t deny what I saw, with my own eyes.”

Percival sighed,

“I guess the one day I forget to use a proper charm is the one you’d be passing by isn’t it? Ironic. Look Miss Goldstein, I feel bad for the kid. I’m helping him out, not hurting him, and not using obvious magic. He has no idea.”

Tina was wringing her hands, and pacing around the hall outside his office now.

“But don’t you think he’ll start to ask questions? Things you can’t answer? You shouldn’t even be helping him, technically. He’s with the organization that hates us the most…”

Percival pinned her with a look, and she stopped moving.

“This was your idea, never forget that. My methods are my own. You’ve been demoted for a reason. You went too far. You are dangerously close to going too far again.”

“Mister Graves… I know you only want to help. Just be careful.”

Percival waved her off and entered his office finally, taking a heavy seat in his chair, leaning back to just staring at the ceiling, wondering really, what the hell he was doing.

At lunch, again, he decided to stop by and check on Credence, and he found him three blocks down from the bank, shivering again, and with an almost constant sniffle.

He charmed the tea in his hand and then smiled at the boy when he came to his side of the street. The smile he received in return was weak, but no less bright.

“How are you today?”

“G-g-g-good sir. Just a bit sick I think. But I also slept too long the other day, got in a bit of…”

He trailed off, and Percival blinked.

_Trouble._

Trouble for sleeping too much?

His anger flared at the horrible woman who constantly punished the boy for being exhausted, rightfully so, after standing outside, day after day, in cold and freezing temperatures to do her evil bidding.

“Here. Drink this.”

He was murmuring the charm under his breath as Credence dropped his gaze to the cup, and took it at once, sipping without politeness. He seemed to be too cold to care about manners.

It would be adorable if it hadn’t been so troubling.

His cheeks flushed and steam came out of his ears, but no one noticed except Percival.

“Thank you. It’s delicious.”

Percival grinned,

“Just my favorite peppermint tea. Come sit down, take a break.”

He wanted to do more, wanted to charm the bench again, and so he did, but he also wondered how he could give the boy a coat, a real one, without anyone questioning him or taking it away.

Transfiguring would be too obvious. Charms would only last so long as he was around and the second Credence got out of range, they would fall away.

Percival glanced over at the boy, and bit his lip, trying to think.

“Will you come to our Sunday meeting?”

Credence was saying, and he blinked, realizing how lost he’d gotten, visions of enchanted gifts, maybe money, or things that could appear different immediately halt on their journey floating through his mind.

“Uh, certainly. If you want me to, I can.”

Percival didn’t often work Sundays anyway, so it was no big sacrifice. If the boy wanted him to, he would do it.

“Will you let me take you to lunch afterwards?”

He added, and Credence’s eyes widened,

“I don’t know if I could… since I’m sick.”

Percival smiled to himself a bit,

“Let’s not worry about that. Finish your tea.”

The idea came to him like a bolt of lightning.

A new coat, charmed to look raggedy.

Woven with charms, it would be more long lasting.

It was devious but brilliant. Percival couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.

“I’d better get back.”

Percival nodded.

“Of course. Don’t mind me; I’m still on my break. I’ll just keep an eye on you.”

He pulled out his cigarettes and watched as Credence got to his feet, cheeks still pink,

“Okay. But I’ll see you Sunday?”

Percival nodded.

“Okay.”

First time he’d ever had a reason to look forward to Sunday, Percival supposed, dragging a deep breath of his cigarette, and he watched the boy move back into place, trying to grab stranger’s attention with his fliers.

He’d be feeling better almost instantly, but in the long term, be fever free by nightfall. No more suffering and being beaten for sickness he couldn’t control.

Percival sat and smoked as long as he dared, and still got a minimal bitch fest from his assistant Abernathy, wondering what had happened to his morning assignment.

“I finished it.”

Percival flicked his wand at the man, and the folder nearly smacked him in the chest.

“I’m sorry Mister Graves sir, I didn’t realize-”

“That some people know how to multi-task? I know, astonishing. Go on.”

The man was still stammering as he left Percival’s office, and he was shaking his head the second he was alone. What an idiot.

Tina should have been promoted instead of demoted for what she’d done for Credence and Abernathy should be in a different department altogether, working where persistence and constant reminders were actually needed.

*

Credence knew it was wrong to be upset after a beating, but he couldn’t help it. There was a dark purple bruise blossoming on his right cheek, and his hands were so raw he could barely hold his bible; even with the minimal bandages Modesty had snuck him.

He didn’t want Mister Graves to see him like this, and he almost considered praying that the man wouldn’t show up at all.

He hadn’t been there in weeks anyway, so it wouldn’t matter.

But it did.

It was as if he was burning, desperate to see Mister Graves the other day, and then he’d appeared, as if by magic, or more likely, God’s divine hand, in Credence’s line of blurry vision, thanks to the high fever he’d been cursed with from his sickness.

Being out in the rain, even before Mister Graves had come along to shield him had been enough. The next day he’d started sniffling. The day after, he’d had a cough, and then when he’d accidentally slept past seven, Mary Lou had pulled him out of bed by his ear and whipped his back for it.

He’d not even meant to sleep so long, but he’d been up all night coughing and fallen asleep just before dawn.

The tea Mister Graves had given him had tasted wonderful, like mint and fire and ice all in one, and he’d woken up the next day feeling better than he had in many days.

Still, Saturday night he’d come home with more leaflets than anyone, so he’d been punished. Now, he cowered at the side of the door, and fought against pressing his cheek into the wood, prolonging the pain and hoping it would be enough to distract him, to keep him from falling asleep during the sermon.

“Hey… what’s wrong?”

Credence’s eyes snapped open and his greatest fear was realized. He turned his face to give the other, undamaged side to the man, but it was too late. Mister Graves had already seen.

“Nothing. Please have a seat, you’re just in time.”

The man did as he was requested, but he was frowning the whole way, and Credence moved back to his place in the front of the room, with Mary Lou beginning to lead everyone in a hymn.

His hands still ached as he gripped his bible, forcing himself to feel the pain, to feel it and banish the thoughts he’d been having for Mister Graves.

It was all wrong, and so sinful to think of the man as he did. He was kind, and he asked nothing in return, so in a way, he was like more of a father than he’d ever known, mysterious powers or not.

Dreaming of him as something different, something more, was not right. It needed to stop.

The sermon was over before he knew it, and he had accidentally bled through his bandages. Luckily his bible was black and would not show any such stains, but God would know if he bled on the Word. Credence still wanted to hide his hands as well, ensure no awkward questions.

He did not get his wish.

Mister Graves approached his mother first instead, and Credence cringed to hear the way he spoke to her.

No mercy, no reverence.

“Do you know what happened to your son?”

The man was far too observant, to not be on God’s side, or the Devil’s, he supposed.

“No sir, I’m afraid not. Beyond burning himself when he was cooking our dinner last night, I’m not sure. He must have fallen out of bed.”

Mister Graves didn’t sound convinced, and rightly so.

“I think you should let me take him to a doctor.”

“Oh thank you sir, but we cannot accept charity like that. The Lord will heal him in time.”

Mister Graves huffed out a sigh, and Credence could see him shaking his head,

“Very well. Thank you for your sermon today, it was very… enlightening.”

He stole a glance at the man as he walked by, and Mister Graves shot him a wink.

He still wanted to go to lunch with him, but there was no way Mary Lou would let him.

No way.

“Go on. Get out there and make up for your poor performance on Friday.”

She was yanking the bible out of his bloody hands and thrusting a stack of leaflets nearly twice as tall into them instead.

Tears blurred his vision, even as the pain threatened to overwhelm him, and he stepped outside, into the street, his voice faltering even on the first word.

Then there was a warm and strong hand on his elbow, guiding him, walking him away from the church to the closest alleyway.

It was Mister Graves.

“Show me.”

Credence carefully tucked the fliers into his thin jacket pocket, and then shakily extended his hands, palms upward, ragged bandages bright crimson.

“Fuck… what did she do to you?”

He’d never heard Mister Graves curse before, and it sent a forbidden thrill down his spine. His voice was so low, not a whisper, more like a rough rasp.

“I did burn our dinner, but that wasn’t all of it.”

“Credence… I hope you know you didn’t do anything to justify this. Dinners get burned all the time. I’m taking you to lunch, and I’ll take care of that too.”

Mister Graves looked pointedly to his jacket, and Credence felt his cheeks flush,

“She’ll know.”

Mister Graves had brought a hand up to caress his cheek, knuckles brushing gently over the spot where he’d been slapped so hard it had made his neck hurt.

There was no pain when his thumb rubbed across Credence’s skin, only heat.

“I’ll figure something out.”

Credence was looking at him, and almost didn’t notice when the man tugged away the bandages to hiss under his breath, before dragging his fingers from his other hand across bother of his palms, and the blood was gone.

Just… gone.

Could the devil really be that kind? _What did he expect in return?_ The voice of the creature was whispering, but Credence tried to ignore it.

“Come on.”

Mister Graves put an arm around him, and walked him out of the alleyway, and Credence didn’t even look back to see if the soaked bandages were still there on the ground. It didn’t matter now. He had no need of them.

The café Mister Graves brought him into was bright, cheery, almost hot from so much warmth, whether from the fireplace blazing near them, or the ovens in the kitchen, and Credence found himself taking off his threadbare coat.

“Oh yes, that reminds me.”

Mister Graves was saying, before reaching back to shuck off his own coat, and he pulled from one of its pockets an impossibility, another coat.

It looked old, and it had threads hanging from it, along with a few moth holes.

That couldn’t possibly belong to Mister Graves, it was too ugly.

“This is not what it appears to be. You can put it on when we leave, and you’ll see.”

Mister Graves was winking at him again, stealing his breath and coherent thought, and then turning to their waitress, ordering for the both of them.

The meal was spectacular and far too much food than he’d ever eaten, but it didn’t stop Credence from asking for dessert.

He was being greedy, and he hadn’t even noticed until that moment, but it was too late to take it back.

He only did because he remembered the chocolate bar, and wished for something similar. It had been far too long since he’d had real sugar, other than in tea Mister Graves brought him.

Judging by the way Mister Graves smiled, maybe he didn’t agree.

“Chocolate cake, I think. Two of those and a cup of coffee for me, tea for him.”

Credence was gaping at the cake when it arrived, and how one piece so large could be for one person, he didn’t know.

He barely ate half of it, and when Mister Graves reached over to press a thumb to the side of his mouth, he froze, unsure of what to do.

“It’s good isn’t it?”

Mister Graves was licking his thumb, and it was like the creature inside Credence had roared in approval, though he wasn’t sure what he was really asking.

He just nodded.

But how was he to pay for such a meal? He had no money.

He voiced his concerns, and the speed at which Mister Graves was assuring him not to worry did indeed make him do just that.

All over again, his thoughts about if the devil could do such a thing, be kind one moment and turn around and demand payment the next, he wasn’t sure. Would his soul even cover all that Mister Graves had given him by that point? It probably didn’t fetch much, tarnished as it was.

The Devil might not even want it.

By the time they were leaving, and Mister Graves was handing him the mysterious hideous coat, Credence was shaking again. His hands didn’t hurt, and his face only burned where Mister Graves had touched him, not from the bruise.

“Try it. Go on.”

He put one arm into the coat and then the other, and pulled it on fully, looking down at himself.

He looked the same, but felt an incredible barrier of warmth between the icy breeze and his body.

It was a miracle of sorts. The coat looked almost exactly like his old one, but felt brand new, and so warm.

“Thank you Mister Graves, sir.”

The man shrugged,

“I just couldn’t stand to see you out there, day after day, in such shabby clothing. Now it’s still shabby, so _she_ can’t say anything, but at least you won’t freeze doing her bidding.”

Another word of the devil’s twisted to be applied to his mother. How interesting.

Credence was still concerned about the pamphlets and he asked if there was any way he could just take a third of them.

“I’ll take this many.”

Mister Graves reached over to pull over half of the fliers from Credence’s pocket, and his hand brushed against the side of his ribs, the heat of his skin felt even through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Credence found himself staring at the man’s face, eyes drifting down to the peculiar pins beside his tie, shaped like spiders, but for the long pointed and deadly tail. Scorpions. So entranced was he, that he almost missed the next thing he said.

“Anytime you want something more than tea, just ask me.”

Credence nodded, and Mister Graves smiled,

“Good boy. Come along, let’s get you back to your church front.”

Credence had been dreading that moment, and it hurt no less watching the man leave, even from the relative warmth of his new coat.

He did as well as he could, handing out the few leaflets he had remaining, and when he returned inside the church, Mary Lou was waiting.

“Who is that man? Why was he asking so many questions?”

Credence knew lying would be a bad idea, but he didn’t know really much about Mister Graves.

“He’s very interested in our work, he just was concerned about my-”

A slap cut off whatever he’d been planning to say, and he knew he’d have a new bruise to replace the one that had been healed.

She probably didn’t even notice his hands were better, or she didn’t care.

He was already taking off his coat and undoing his belt before she asked, and so, the flesh of his hands saw blood again that day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trying to get the whole thing posted for christmas for yall

 

Percival was not prepared for Tina to be in the smoking lounge when he got there the next workday afternoon, and she was sitting drinking tea, not even smoking. She had only come there to talk to him. She could drink tea at her own desk quite easily enough. He thought about telling her as much, but politeness got the better of him.

“Miss Goldstein.”

“Mister Graves, I wouldn’t bother you usually, but I wanted to know about your progress with the latest case. The sightings. Have you -?”

“Please. I come here to get _away_ from paperwork. Not to discuss it.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just a little on edge lately.”

Percival pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag before exhaling and favoring her with an answer,

“What exactly do you want me to do about that? Give you time off?”

Tina was already shaking her head.

“No sir! I’m grateful to be here as much as I am. I’m glad you’re still interested in helping Credence… I just wish there was more I could do.”

“You’re doing fine. Just... try to keep Abernathy from coming up with random complaints about your sister. She won’t go out with him or something? I’m tired of hearing about it. I’ve got my own business to worry about.”

Tina was actually blushing, and finishing her tea in a hurry, and he knew he’d succeeded.

“I’m so sorry about that sir. I’ll go talk to her right now.”

Percival nodded, and then turned away from her, taking a seat facing the window, where he could almost see three blocks down if he squinted.

He couldn’t see Credence from here, had no idea where the boy might be patrolling today, but at lunchtime, he’d be checking on him.

The coat had to be treating him well.

He finished his cigarette and returned to the relative quiet of his office, and managed to get some actual work done. He seemed to be less and less focused on it usually; he preferred to think about Credence. Worrying didn’t do much good, so he just tried to think of new ways he could send him things, or give him things his mother wouldn’t notice or be bothered by.

The most obvious thing they needed was a way to communicate, in case anything really bad happened, or he was hurt…

He almost couldn’t bear thinking about, but Percival was prepared to really stretch the No-Maj interference laws to the breaking point for that boy.

Hmm.

He would do almost anything to be sure that Credence wasn’t _just_ a No-Maj. As he knew he hadn’t imagined the hints of power he’d sensed that first day, there had to be a way to confirm that.

The research and reports about any sort of Obscurus sightings were inconclusive, and left much to be desired. It was all very frustrating to Percival.

By the time the clock was dinging for him to go to lunch, Percival had nearly gone cross eyed from staring at the papers scattered over his desk. With a flick of his wrist, they were reorganized, and with another, he was summoning his coat to him, and walking out the door.

It was time for his favorite part of any day.

People passing him on the street usually parted for him and he didn’t notice, but today when he crossed the road and found where Credence was lurking in a pained stance, for that was the best way to describe it, he felt anger rise within him.

Not at the boy, but at the fact he wasn’t wearing a coat, and his jacket was missing as well, where Percival thought he could see an abnormal darkness on his back.

“What happened?”

Credence flinched before he even turned to see him, and Percival fought to control his breathing, hand already twitching towards his wand. _Can’t give away the ruse yet._ He told himself.

“My sister put my coat on and told my mother it was some kind of trick, so she burned it. She took my jacket too. Said I didn’t deserve it. Had the devil’s breath to keep me warm.”

“I see.”

Well he didn’t, but in a way, the woman’s twisted logic made some kind of sense. Of course she would be clever enough to see _real_ magic where it was, even if she went around crusading against magic in all forms, even benign ones.

“I can’t talk to you anymore. She says you’re the devil. Trying to corrupt me.”

Percival couldn’t hold back a laugh, and he saw Credence’s lips twitch towards a smile. He thought it was just as ridiculous. Good.

“I set foot in your church, several times. Doesn’t she know the devil shouldn’t be able to really do that?”

Credence gave a twitchy sort of shrug, and Percival realized that he must have been freezing, besides being in obvious pain, as his shirt was soaked with blood.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere warmer.”

“I c-c-can’t.”

Percival sighed,

“You most certainly can if _I_ say so.”

Credence’s eyes widened and Percival took his arm, not rough but firm, and walked him all the way down the street, and people did part the way for him then, perhaps seeing the righteous anger and fire in his eyes and they arrived at the same café within a matter of moments.

Not being able to apparate was a bit of an inconvenience, but Percival was used to plenty of exercise from the long halls of MACUSA.

He took them to that same table they’d dined at before, and cast a _notice-me-not_ charm immediately, and then turned to Credence,

“Please, let me see.”

The boy looked horrified at first, and glanced around the room, but Percival stepped closer, putting a hand on each of his shoulders, and he realized that if he stood up straight, they’d be almost the same height.

“What about-?”

“They can’t see us.”

Credence didn’t question that, perhaps assuming it was a divine sort of gift,

“It’s really bad. It’s just my upper back though.”

Just.

 _Just_.

Percival thought maybe it was lucky there were laws against attacking No-Maj’s, otherwise there would be nothing to protect that bitch.

Credence’s hands shook as he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, and lowered it enough to reveal the jagged wounds across his shoulders.

They were still bleeding, but it was congealed, somewhat, and yet had been severe enough to have soaked through the boy’s shirt. He must have had to sleep on them.

Percival couldn’t imagine the anguish that had caused him.

“Hold still.”

Percival didn’t want him turning around to see him using his wand, but he also didn’t trust himself to do a precise enough job with just his hands, so he carefully dragged just the tip over the edge of the cuts and when they began to knit back together, he used a wordless spell to clean away the dried blood from his skin and his dampened shirt, so that at least Credence could have some small amount of comfort.

“Okay. You can turn around.”

He’d sheathed his wand again, and set his coat at the back of his chair, prepared to dissolve the charm when Credence was ready, but the look he got trapped in as the boy faced him was almost flooring.

He looked as if he was staring at the sun, and couldn’t look away.

Percival dropped his eyes if only for some way to escape the gravity of it and caught sight of the last bits of the boy’s exposed collarbone before he’d finished buttoning his shirt back up.

Oh.

“Thank you. It feels like it never happened.”

He was welcome.

So welcome.

So grateful.

Percival kicked that thought away, buried it alive, and took a seat, watching as Credence did the same.

The waitress came by and he ordered just the cake for them both and two coffees, and she skittered away.

“I don’t think cake is a very healthy meal Mister Graves…”

“Perhaps not. But I hardly think the sort of thing you eat at home is considered the picture of health either.”

Credence looked as if he might have been prepared to argue, how intriguing, but the waitress returned in a flash with their food, and Percival took a long sip of coffee, effectively ending the conversation.

He did restrain himself from touching Credence again when he got a bit of chocolate frosting on his lip, and the boy used his napkin to clean himself, almost fiercely, so that his lips were then pinker than normal, and now Percival was staring anyway.

“Why do you want to help me? You picked me, of all the others in the church… but why?”

That was an awkward question Percival had been hoping to avoid. He did not want to bring up Tina and risk reminding Credence that she was a witch and thus, put two and two together and realize they were the same sort.

“You’re special. To me. I can see potential in you. For great things. I hope you’ll continue to allow me to be here for you.”

“Oh.”

Credence almost looked disappointed, as if he’d expected some kind of big speech, and Percival chuckled,

“Please, stop worrying about paying me back. I’m not keeping a tally. You owe me nothing.”

Credence didn’t look convinced, and Percival wasn’t going to dwell on it. The fact of the matter was, he _of course_ kept a tally of things he had done, but not to collect on or for sinister intent, merely to ensure he didn’t repeat any of them, except in the case of the café, it had merely been convenient and was a place he could freely go and not worry about being recognized with a No-Maj.

Percival didn’t like the idea of sending Credence back out into the cold without any sort of jacket, but there was nothing to be done, no way to skirt the bitch’s crazy rules.

Not without keeping an eye on him for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately he could not pull that off.

It pained Percival to do so, but he said goodbye and watched Credence walk away, healed and renewed, but still burdened by what he thought he was doing, racking up a debt of untold amounts with a man he wasn’t sure he could trust.

Percival wanted desperately to change that.

*

Credence found himself dreaming every night of Mister Graves, even if he wouldn’t be seeing him for a day or two, or three, and he often wondered if the man dreamed of him too. But would that be proper? Did he even think of him beyond a philanthropic venture? Never mind what Mary Lou said.

Mister Graves wasn’t the devil, he _couldn’t_ be, but he was certainly mysterious.

He could heal Credence with just a touch, or even a look sometimes and he smoked, a sin, but smelled incredible always, like pine needles and fresh rainfall on earth, not the concrete jungle of the streets.

The next time the man brought Credence a cup of tea during one of the coldest afternoons so far, he made sure to study him, how he walked, how he moved, and when he smiled, catching him staring, Credence could only stammer.

He’d mainly been looking at the blue silk scarf he always seemed to wear, and he found himself wishing he could have something as fine. It would be confiscated immediately, so it was a hopeless thought, but it didn’t stop him. Mister Graves walked like he moved on air and the elegance of his speech and gestures was evidence of an excellent schooling and possibly manner school.

Credence was certain that at least once a year; the man wore all black but for white on a scarf, and attended the opera, probably with a young beautiful companion at his side.

He _ached_ to be that someone.

“Are you all right? You’re quiet today.”

Mister Graves was smoking, but he paused, his hand mid way to his lips, and Credence licked his own, unconsciously, not seeing quite how the man’s dark gaze followed the movement perfectly,

“I’m just tired sir. It’s been a busy week leading up to Christmas. It’ll be the most eventful sermon to be sure. The most visitors.”

He tried to keep the hopeful lilt out of his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted the man to attend for the candlelight service, and he would be dressed in his finest clothes, just once a year he got to pull them out, dust them off, and feel more like a human being than any other day. He could almost feel the disappointment sinking into his bones as Mister Graves nodded, and then smiled tightly,

“Ahh. That makes sense. I wish I wasn’t head of my department. Didn’t have to work all the holidays and such. But New Years Eve, now that one I’ll be free. I don’t suppose you do a sermon for that too?”

He threw Credence a wink, so that he would know it was a joke, but Credence could only watch as he took a long drag on his cigarette, and then shake his head,

“Not exactly no. We do a New Years’ day meeting, and try to bring any sinners to the light, of the New Year, and the promise of a second chance.”

The words felt hollow, and Credence knew deep down, in his heart, where the creature of darkness seemed to reside now, he would rather be out doing what he’d been told all his life was wrong, if it meant he could spend an extra second with Mister Graves, ringing in the new year.

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me. From what I can tell, your _mother_ doesn’t really believe in second chances. She won’t give me one, or you.”

Credence could feel his cheeks heating, and he looked away from the intense gaze of Mister Graves, studying the forming puddle down the street, where the drains were clogged with too many late fallen leaves, and it wasn’t until he felt a hand on his arm that he looked up.

Mister Graves had already been close to him on the bench, and he’d finished his cigarette, and gotten even closer, so close, if he tried, Credence thought he could count the man’s eyelashes.

“Would you come to dinner with me? New Years Eve? I promise it will be nothing short of spectacular.”

Credence was already making excuses, but was doing his best not to say _‘no’_ in so many words,

“I don’t have anything fine to wear, I’d look worn out next to you, they’d turn me away, and you would be embarrassed because of me…”

Mister Graves shook his head, and dragged a hand over from his shoulder to Credence’s cheek, and he thought he could feel his heartbeat thundering there, just in the spot where the man was touching him, all of time slowed down and his eyes zeroed in on the man’s eyes,

“Just tell me, yes or no, don’t worry about your appearance. No one will turn me away from anything, alone or with you at my side.”

Credence thought he could see flecks of gold in the dark brown of the man’s eyes, and he found himself nodding, and the hand on his cheek slid down to caress his jaw, and he was holding his breath now, awaiting his next move.

“Wonderful. I look forward to it. Now here, finish your tea, and take this with you, have it after dinner if you like.”

He set an emerald green wrapped flat round thing into Credence’s palm, and he could just make out the words ‘peppermint patty’ in bold silver script.

“Thank you Mister Graves.”

He managed to breathe, and the man smiled.

“Of course. Sweets for the sweet. Now, I must return to work, but you promise me you’ll have a lovely Christmas, and if you’re very good, Santa may give me something for you.”

Another wink, and the hand on his face left, as the man got to his feet and began to stroll away, leaving Credence with the candy and a half cup of tea still clutched in his other hand.

He could scarcely believe it.

Mister Graves was going to take him out to dinner, and maybe had gotten him something for Christmas. However was he going to pay him back for something as _that_?

When he got back to the church that night, after properly handing out all of his leaflets, Mary Lou was in a surprisingly good mood, and didn’t even seem to notice him, just ladled out everyone’s soup for the night, and told them all to eat up, and get plenty of rest. Christmas was only a week away.

Credence went to bed in silence, eerie and cold, and when he was curled up in bed, tucked beneath the thin ragged blankets and worn sheets, he pulled out the green and silver wrapper, just staring at it for a moment, before tearing it open in one swift movement, and he saw a flat circle of what had to be dark chocolate, almost a half an inch thick. He didn’t break off a piece, it was small enough for him to put to his mouth and take a bite out of, leaving barely half remaining.

The chocolate melted on his tongue, and inside was a pure white filling, tasting of something like peppermint. Credence let his eyes fall shut, and focused on the mingling tastes in his mouth, sweet and light and cool, like ice and cocoa. He decided, shamefully in harmony with the roar of the creature, it must be like kissing Mister Graves after he’d smoked a couple cigarettes, and drank some hot chocolate.

Yes.

It was absolutely delicious, and Credence was careful not to make a sound, though he wanted to moan aloud from the thought, and the images flooding his mind as he took the second and final bite.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face and the mint lingering on his tongue.


	6. Chapter 6

For Christmas Percival had known what he would be getting Credence and it was almost painful to have to wait to give it to him, but wait he did, and he tested his own patience on Christmas day when he discovered he wasn’t the only one putting in overtime. Tina was there, his ever present shadow, again.

“Merry Christmas Mister Graves, sorry you had to be here.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Or could be wanted, he supposed he wasn’t saying.

“Are you going to spend it with your family, when you get done here?”

Percival shook his head,

“I haven’t spoken with my brother in almost a year, and my parents live upstate. Far too much snow to have to apparate through for my taste.”

“Well that’s sad. You shouldn’t have to spend the holiday alone…”

Percival was tempted, so very tempted to roll his eyes and ask if she was trying to extend her charity to him, but instead he simply glanced over at her, to see a touch of sadness in her dark eyes,

“I appreciate your concern Miss Goldstein, but I’ll be perfectly fine.”

She left, looking dejected the entire way, and he took up a cigarette after only a few minutes, puffing slowly, and trying to keep his thoughts focused on his work, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit excited, looking forward to going home and wrapping Credence’s present, and then in a handful of days, he’d get to see him again.

He’d dropped by the church where the boy had been standing out on the street, ushering people inside the building to the special holiday sermon, before coming into work, for the Second Salemers kept their usual hours, even on Christmas morning it seemed, and he noted that the boy looked different, a bit nicer, as if he’d gotten an extra bath or he had on new clothes.

It killed him to have to keep walking, but he couldn’t cave then, and couldn’t bear to suffer through another one of those anti-wizarding monologues, even if it meant getting to see the boy.

He’d been disillusioned, so as not to be seen, but the crowds still parted for him, and he wondered if the boy had noticed.

Maybe. He was so very clever and highly intelligent, even with his backwards upbringing and seeming tendencies to be a bit naïve about the rest of the world.

By the time the important day had arrived, Percival was more than nervous, and rushed through his morning routine just so that he could get to work faster and finish his half day, and to make sure the dinner reservations were set, as well as the No-Maj car service he’d employed.

He planned on going all out for the special occasion, and he kept telling himself it wasn’t a date, it was merely a celebration of such a successful endeavor.

Surveillance and security of the Second Salemers, and protection of the boy. All very important work assignments he didn’t need to devote his valuable time to, but he had anyway.

His own suit was pressed nicely, and hanging up on the doorframe to his room as he swept into his apartment, half past five in the afternoon, and he sighed.

So he hadn’t taken a proper half day, but he was taking the whole next day off to make up for it, so MACUSA would just have to learn to do without him for such an amount of time.

Dressed immaculately in his best navy suit, with a white silk scarf instead of his usual blue, Percival took the stairs down to the lobby outside which the long black stretch limousine waited.

“Good evening Mister Graves.”

The man at the front desk, Roger, he thought, called out to him, and he gave the man a nod,

“Thank you.”

The car ride wasn’t very long, and he spotted Credence huddling on the side of a street, three blocks away from the church, ordering the driver to halt the car, Percival was already climbing out.

“There you are. Quick, get inside. It’s freezing out.”

Credence’s lips weren’t quite turning blue, but Percival did wonder how long he’d been standing there.

“Here, put this on.”

He handed over another jacket, similar to his own, but made of wool instead of the more expensive blend he usually wore, more for warmth than any sort of fashion statement, and the boy did so, still shuddering the whole ride to the restaurant.

“I really can’t stay out late, I know you said we could celebrate tonight, but I have to be back before midnight or she’ll…”

The boy trailed off, and his eyes flashed with something like dread, and Percival felt his stomach clench.

“Not to worry, I’ll have you home long before then. How was your Christmas? Did you have a better time of it? A decent meal?”

Credence nodded at once, seemingly grateful for the topic change, and it carried them all the way inside the restaurant, which he didn’t seem to realize was actually a fine No-Maj place, not somewhere Percival usually visited, but he had wanted to impress and both ensure they still wouldn’t be recognized.

It was on the edge of the city and it was fairly quiet, despite it being a holiday evening. The reservation list was more than exclusive, and only a serious bit of magic, bordering on illegal had helped Percival secure a spot, along with a hefty donation to the charity of their choice.

“Now I hope you won’t mind the deviation, but I think we should have a bottle of wine, don’t you? Champagne is rather cliché, overused, and a white will go excellently with what I have in mind.”

Credence’s eyes went wide, and before he could protest, Percival interrupted him,

“I promise, you only need try one glass. If you hate it, you can have whatever else you wish, even hot chocolate.”

The waiter brought over their wine glasses and the proper bottle, and Percival smiled, watching as Credence gaped at the amount that was put into his own, and then picked it up with shaky hands.

“Is it sweet?”

The rim of the glass hadn’t quite kissed his lips, and the boy was asking him a question. Percival really needed to control himself. The boy needed positive role models, not someone trying to corrupt him at every turn. Well, too late.

“Somewhat. Mostly dry and sharp. Try it. Go on.”

First cigarettes, now alcohol.

It seemed he was to be introducing the boy to all the vices he could manage.

There were still a handful of others he was practically aching to add to the list, but he wasn’t sure if he could dare to do such a thing, to further damage such purity, such wide eyed innocence.

The boy took a sip, perhaps more than he intended, and didn’t spit it out, or cough. He just swallowed and looked at Percival like he was expecting him to react.

Well, he was in a way, but much out of the line of sight of anyone.

“It’s… good.”

Percival grinned, and took a drink from his own glass,

“Glad to hear it.”

He ordered the food the next time the waiter returned, and he tried not to ignore the way Credence looked mildly frightened by the length and names of the dishes.

“Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“I know I probably will, but have you seen the menu? There are no prices anywhere…”

Credence was still worrying about that?

Well time to bring out the big guns, he supposed.

“Please, remember how I told you there would be a Christmas present for you in store? Well, consider this it. The coat too.”

He could already imagine the protests coming, and how the boy would say he couldn’t possibly accept something so valuable, and the coat would probably be taken away within a day, but it didn’t matter.

He _wanted_ to give him things. Wanted to see him wearing things Percival had picked out, and he wasn’t done handing him those things.

There was one final gift that he really hoped would make an impression.

“Another?”

He held the bottle up, and Credence nodded easily. They’d finished one, and he’d ordered a second without even blinking, and he was amused to note that Credence had actually been drinking the most of the alcohol.

It was like he was nervous or something.

Well, to be fair, he was more than a bit himself.

The blush in the boy’s cheeks had become a constant since about the third glass, and he wondered if he’d actually ever had more than a sip of the stuff in his entire life, he sure acted like he was a regular lush.

Not that Percival minded.

He only worried about taking the boy home in the state that he was, gorgeous, all pouty lips and pink skin, eyes sparkling in the candle light from the table, and… what was he saying?

“I’m sorry?”

Credence ducked his head and stared at his plate for a moment,

“Will we be able to have dessert tonight? I just… missed that chocolate cake.”

Percival laughed so long and loud he swore he could see people beginning to stare, and then he took another long drink of wine,

“Anything you want. I’m quite certain they can make an excellent torte here. By the way, what did you think of that last little treat? Was the mint enjoyable for you?”

Credence nodded, and even his ears were turning red now. How peculiar.

After dessert had arrived, Percival had just picked up his fork to take a bite of his own piece when he felt a foot brush against his leg.

He nearly dropped the fork.

He tried again, and that time the foot pressed upwards, almost to above his knee.

There was no one else it could be, and there was no way it had been a mistake.

He looked over at Credence, who was currently drilling a hole into the torte with his eyes, fork gripped in hand like a weapon.

“Credence… what are you doing?”

The boy lifted his head, a seemingly difficult effort, and then smiled, almost dreamily,

“Oh sorry Mister Graves…I didn’t mean to kick you.”

Percival cocked a brow at the boy, and he dropped the smile, choosing instead to stare somewhere past his left ear,

“What on earth are you apologizing for? You didn’t hurt me.”

Credence gulped visibly, and then shook his head,

“No, right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking… was I thinking?” Credence was leaning in, his hand brushing against Percival’s arm, before he whispered, almost conspiratorially,

“I think I’m a little drunk sir.”

He let out a nervous giggle, and Percival couldn’t help smiling.

“Of course my boy. If you aren’t used to the wine, it will get to you. Don’t apologize, just, maybe save it for later.”

With that enigmatic statement, and the tightness in his trousers begging for later to become _next_ , Percival finished his dessert and wine and waved the waiter over for the check.

The car ride back to the church was silent, and he could almost _feel_ Credence looking at him as they drew nearer to the street where he would have to say goodbye. Tension hung thick in the air, and not just from the wine, but the moments they’d shared, the evening it was, and the fact Percival was utterly dying to keep himself in one piece, he felt as if he might shatter or try to fly if the boy only asked.

He wanted to touch him so badly, but he didn’t want to give the driver any sort of free show, not that holding hands was all that scandalous after all, but the wretched hostess of the restaurant had told him and ‘ _his son’_ to have a wonderful New Year.

Now why did they have to go and do that?

It only made him feel worse, more uneasy and highly nervous about what was to come.

Credence began to climb out of the car the second it had stopped moving, and Percival hastened after him, with a quick glance at his watch to show he had a good amount of time before the boy would be in any danger of trouble. It was half past nine, and there was a fine dusting of snow beginning to fall as he reached out and took the boy’s arm, through the thick wool of the coat, he could feel him shiver.

“Mister Graves, I can’t be seen with you coming home…”

Credence began, and Percival was already nodding, confirming that certainly, he would not wish to be the cause of any trouble, and he was just seeing him off, saying goodnight properly.

They were a block down from the parked car, and two from the church now, and Percival decided it was time. The time to act, it was time to stop waiting around and wondering, so he stopped walking a straight line, and curved them into the closest alleyway.

Credence was mumbling a question, but Percival was putting his other hand to his cheek, silencing any words, and pressing him carefully against the brick, a silent cushioning charm ensuring the cold stone wouldn’t be uncomfortable, before he leaned in to capture the boy’s pretty lips in a kiss.

They were cold already from the handful of moments in the bitter night, and slightly chapped, but no less delicious.

Percival could feel Credence almost soften against him, hands fumbling at the front of his coat, searching for something to hold on to, to anchor him in the maelstrom that had become the embrace.

He’d never really hugged the boy properly before, it was like flying before learning to walk, but Percival didn’t care.

He pulled back a moment, catching his breath, and gauging Credence’s reaction. Flushed and panting, the boy was looking at him with wonderment in his dark eyes, and his lips were parted,

“Mister Graves… what are you doing? Is this… do you… are we…?”

“Credence… I don’t mean to pressure you into anything. I’ve just wanted to do that for so long, and well, it’s rather a tradition of sorts to kiss someone to ring in the New Year. Can you forgive me if it was unwelcomed?”

He rubbed his thumb over the boy’s cheek, feeling warmth blossoming under his touch, and Credence started shaking his head, sending his heart plummeting somewhere around Florida.

“No, no there’s nothing to forgive, sir, I’ve _wanted_ something too. Wanted a way to show you my gratitude. Can we… again?”

Percival was sure he was grinning so hard his cheeks might ache the next day from it, and then was surging forward, taking that perfect mouth against his again, and that time, he dared to taste, to press his tongue against the boy’s lips, and he parted them without a word, allowing him entrance.

Chocolate and wine, or something simply magical that couldn’t be described, _that_ was how Credence tasted, and Percival wanted to die sooner than ever forget it.

But before he could lose his head, before he could become overwhelmed, for it was almost divine, rapturous the way Credence whimpered into the kiss as he pushed harder, almost lining up their bodies together, and he just stopped short of grinding his hips against the boy’s, remembering himself, remembering the time, the moment.

He pulled away, and inhaled sharply, the cold air bringing him much needed focus. He could still see snowflakes clinging to the boy’s long dark lashes, and he wanted to kiss them away.

“I have something else for you.”

He reached into his pocket with one hand, keeping the other on Credence’s face, almost reluctant to stop touching him, and pulled out a small patch of blue, which rapidly grew into a full sized silk scarf, identical to his favorite, and he saw the widening of the boys eyes.

“It’s so beautiful.”

Credence spoke low, voice hushed with awe, and Percival smiled.

“Just like you, my boy. Here.”

He let go of him only to bring the scarf around his neck, and then framed both hands on his face, leaning in to press another more desperate sort of kiss to his slightly swollen lips,

“Think of me when you wear it, or when you even look at it. If you ever need _anything_ , Anything at all, touch it, and say my name, and I will come to you.”

“Really? I can have it?”

Credence took one side of the scarf, held it up between his fingers, rubbing it gently and staring, as if unable to believe something so expensive could be all his, truly.

Percival nodded,

“You can have anything you want.”

Credence glanced back up at him from beneath his long lashes, snowflakes long since melted, and his lips seemed to quiver,

“You don’t just think of me like a son? Like the lady said at the nice restaurant?”

Percival felt a stab of heat run straight down his spine to his cock, and he shook his head, only just refraining from kissing the boy senseless again, if only to prove a point,

“Not at all Credence, not at all. Now you run along, don’t get in any trouble. Keep warm. Oh, and happy New Year.”

“But it’s not midnight…”

Percival smiled,

“It’s midnight somewhere.”

He watched the boy leave through the thickening swirl of snow, and then went back to the still waiting car, paying him generously for his time, before taking the next alleyway to apparate home.

With the warmth of the wine coursing through his veins, and the taste of Credence’s kiss on his tongue, his willpower didn’t last long, and he was magicking away his clothing on the walk to the bathroom, almost jumping into a hot shower, and gasping out his release against the tiles only moments later.

The steam and hot water lulled him into a relaxed state, and he fell into bed, dreams only vague, but certainly focused on a slim pale boy with dark hair, longer in his imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the 'not' date


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re letting the devil seduce you! Satan himself is prowling outside those doors, and you just run to him willingly, every time! Pretty little gifts, trinkets, _lies_ , and what do you give for them? What do you pay him back in return? Your soul? Your sinful words and deeds? You’re no better than a cheap whore, selling yourself on the street.

I know your kind. I can smell him on you. First it was tobacco smoke, then his overbearing cologne, and now its alcohol? If you think you can’t keep yourself away from him with your will power alone so be it. I will free you from your demons. I will beat the wickedness out of your very soul.”

Credence had been home early enough, with excuses of seeking new parishioners, new places to spread the good word, but Mary Lou hadn’t wanted to listen, not when she caught sight of him as he was, clad in two obvious gifts from who she thought was the devil.

He handed over his belt, and obediently removed the coat and scarf, and she was still waiting, tapping the foot that counted down the moments before his world would be overrun with pain.

Keep going, it was saying.

Don’t stop there.

A whipping of the hands won’t be enough to remember what he did wrong, to redeem him.

He took off his shirt and carefully folded it on top of the coat, and the first lash hit him across his shoulders, drawing a cry from him.

Another followed swiftly, and he clamped his lips together, sore though they were, from much more pleasant things.

It wasn’t just his back or his hands.

She hit him there until he couldn’t kneel upright, and he fell over, bracing his arms around himself, clutching at the ruined sides of his shoulders.

“Please.”

The word may have been a whisper, but even if she heard it, she did not stop.

His arms were next, and they were never hit before, so it was all new and fresh skin to destroy, and she did.

“Hold up your hands, get up.”

Credence was shaking, shivering, but not from the cold. Dimly he thought he could hear someone crying, and it had to be Modesty, who else would care enough about him and his peril?

Blood was slowly trickling down his back, and now his arms and he could feel it tickling skin that was untouched, that couldn’t have fit into new spots to be hit, and when the belt sliced open his palms, he barely felt it.

The pain everywhere else was too blinding.

“Go on. Go up to bed, and pray for your atonement.”

He didn’t beg so much as cling to the scarf, he didn’t care when she threatened to burn it, as she had before with the other coat, the one that had probably been enchanted by a legion of demons or witches, and then the other one too, the wool one that had been so warm, that probably had snow still dampening under the collar from where Mister Graves had pushed him into the wall and kissed him.

But oh.

He wasn’t to think about that.

He needed to purge his thoughts of all mentions of the man, and pray for penance.

The mattress beneath him was hard and thin, and the sheets were already soaked with his blood, he knew it. His entire body was aching, and he could only murmur under his breath, words he didn’t really believe, mantras that didn’t belong to him, and hadn’t in so long.

Church had become a routine to only lead to being able to see Mister Graves. All of his life had narrowed into that one fine point.

The tapestry was threatening to unravel now.

Inside his chest, the creature slumbered, beaten, defeated into submission, and he knew it was for the best. Allowing it to flourish, to grow, to nearly overcome his better nature had been a fatal mistake, and now he was paying the price for it. For the moment of weakness.

Well, several moments.

He took every time he’d seen Mister Graves, every gift he’d ever received, every kind look or touch, and cast them away, like tossing ruined leaflets into the garbage.

All he would keep was the scarf.

It was all he had ever wanted.

All.

It was ugly, and stained, just like him now.

Red and blue and could be black if he tried to burn it himself.

As his body would be in the morning, half trying to heal itself, half resigned to suffer.

Instead of doing as the man had asked, the man, only the man, Credence held tight to the scarf and tried to forget him, tried to push him as far away from himself as he could, and when he finally drifted into a fitful sleep, awakened every time his body moved and another patch of skin burned and screamed in agony, he still had one hand gripping it.

*

New Year, and a new agenda, Percival decided. Operation _‘do work’_ and also _‘figure out a way to convince the president to repeal laws protecting and separating No-Majs from the wizarding world.’_

It was a double edged sword of a plan, because he wanted to ensure the Second Salemers could properly be prosecuted, but also guarantee he would suffer no ill after affects from truly rescuing Credence from the horrible woman he had to call his mother.

Several days of the mission went by, with no luck in procuring a meeting to discuss anything more than recent Dark wizarding activity in Europe and how worrying it was. Top priority after a while, and Percival felt weary, as if it wasn’t bad enough he wanted to change how MACUSA saw the entire country, he also had to worry about Grindelwald’s fanatics causing mayhem and destruction across the globe.

Sometimes it was just exhausting being him.

There was one ray of sunshine, one bastion against all the maddening and simultaneously boring work, and that was Credence.

Thanks to his recent workload, he’d been distracted, and quite unable to sneak away, even for a short lunch, without getting bombarded by memos or missives, as per the usual lately, and always, he returned home long after dark, and in need of a large glass of whiskey.

After a week of the same, he walked into his office determined to find an hour, somewhere, to get away, to escape and go visit Credence, and perhaps persuade him to join him for lunch as well.

He stopped short at the sight of Tina in his office, waiting for him.

“How did you…”

“Break into your office? It’s not really important is it? Something is wrong, your Second Salemers, your side project, I’ve been taking notes. I haven’t seen Credence in three days. Just the woman and her daughters. I think maybe he’s ill.”

Percival shook his head, mind already running through calculations,

“Can’t be. I cured that for him. I just saw him about… never mind. You’re sure?”

The scarf had never pulled him, never called to him. He hadn’t been summoned with magic. Perhaps there was a mistake, maybe Tina hadn’t walked far enough, or he’d been in a different part of the city.

“I pass that way every day. He hasn’t been out. It’s very odd. She works those children to the breaking point. There is no way she wouldn’t be forcing him to work through whatever he has… unless he can’t…”

Percival felt his blood turn to ice.

The gifts.

If the woman had been truly serious about warning him, a total stranger, away from her ‘son,’ what were the lengths she would go to, to stop him from ever doing such a thing again, after a clear breaking of her laws?

He sighed.

Underestimating her level of insanity had been a severe mistake.

He just hoped Credence hadn’t needed to pay a steep price.

“I’m going out.”

He snatched his coat back off the enchanted rack and ignored Tina’s look of surprise, even bowling over poor Abernathy on his way out,

“Cancel my meetings, rearrange my schedule.”

“For how long Sir?”

“Indefinitely!”

The air was cold, biting into the bare spots of skin it could find as Percival strode out into the street, and he pushed right past the woman, shouting at the small crowd that had gathered, ignoring her look of indignation.

If she wanted to argue with the devil, he’d give her a good try, but there were nothing, not on heaven or on earth or in hell that was going to stop him or get in his way.

“Credence? Can you hear me?”

He could hear vague shouting and a bit of commotion outside the church, and he flicked his wand, almost angrily to lock the door, preventing anyone from coming in to disturb him in his search. He took the stairs two at a time, and when he spotted the only closed door on a long hallway, he made a beeline for it.

“Credence?”

He lowered his voice from the frantic sort of shout he’d previously employed, and tried a low rasp, a whisper, as he pushed the door open, for of course it wasn’t locked.

Prisons of the mind rarely needed such physical barriers.

There was something black and blue and bleeding lying on a bed in the corner, and Percival stepped closer, dread beginning a sour trickle down his throat, and as he moved to loom over the figure, he knew.

It was the boy.

Beaten half to death, and barely breathing. He wasn’t shivering, so he must have been almost unconscious from the pain.

He’d fallen asleep after such a severe lashing, and it could have been the death of him.

Percival gripped his wand so tightly red sparks began to shoot off, threatening to start fires on the shabby mattress.

_You cannot interfere._

But he could heal him.

He _would_.

Percival murmured under his breath, wand doing its work, and he was shaking the whole time. What the boy really needed was actual medical care, and perhaps a bit of murtlap essence for the worst wounds.

All he could do was take away the pain, and hope for the best.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, and hoped he could be able to get some real rest, now that he wasn’t covered in blood and feeling the bruises with every movement.

He flicked his wand to clean him up as best he could, and conjured a blanket to cover him with, never mind the fact the bitch would probably steal it and destroy it.

He couldn’t help seeing the blue scarf there, in the boy’s hands, clutched tight like a life raft out while he was in danger of drowning out at sea.

Why had he never thought of him?

Never called his name?

Never even tried to reach him?

Truly, it appeared all along, as he’d been afraid of, suspected in the deepest and darkest corners of his mind; the boy didn’t need him or want him.

Maybe he had only ever gone along with the kiss as a means to try to begin to pay him back. Guilt was eating him alive, and Percival felt as if he’d been struck across the face, punched in the gut.

As he staggered backwards, away from the small bed, and the sleeping boy, there was only one thing he knew, he wasn’t welcome there.

He was just causing more trouble and eventual harm.

He needed to leave.

Percival walked straight out of the church and never looked back, his silencing and muffling charm fading the further away he got.

He wasn’t going back to MACUSA. He couldn’t dream of focusing on menial tasks now.

He wanted a drink, and a cigarette, preferably both.

The bottle he was thinking of floated towards him the second he walked inside his apartment, coat pulling itself off of him and carefully moving to hang up, and he didn’t even pause, just snatched the bottle and unscrewed the lid, taking a long drink, before collapsing into his chair beside the fireplace.

It was dull, and only slightly smoldering, so he flicked his wand at it, before he could become too drunk and unable to perform basic skills.

The bottom of the bottle greeted him only an hour later, and he wanted to die, proper and good, almost felt as if he could go and punch out God, and greet the Devil in hell. It was where he belonged, for letting himself become so careless, so stupid, so lost over a No-Maj, barely old enough to be no longer called a child.

Considering how he’d managed to avoid risking exposure, he supposed it could have gone worse, could have gone the way Tina had, and in the end, he’d barely made a difference in the boy’s life.

Created a few moments of comfort and spared him some pain that he would eventually have to confront and experience again.

Why had he even bothered in the first place?

From his whiskey addled haze, a face, the pretty and sad face of Tina swam up to him.

_‘Because I asked you to.’_

Because it was the _right_ thing to do.

But he had failed. He had gotten too involved, to invested, and he cared too much.

The boy had not returned those feelings, he had merely embraced them, weaponized them. He had made Percival look a fool, while trying to treat him, trying to ply him with gifts, and trinkets, and wine and dine him.

All for naught.

When it came down to it, Percival couldn’t say what he would have done differently. Ask the boy more often if he was happy; ask if he was making an impression?

Would it have made any difference?

Perhaps not.

He passed out in the chair, in front of the gentle warmth of the dying fire, and his dreams were a confusing mess of his desires and wants all swirling into one chaotic black and red storm.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the epic conclusion to the cliff hanger!
> 
>  
> 
> i couldn't keep up the angst for long i'm sorry

Credence awoke to find himself still in his bed; limbs stiff from so many days unchanged and heart pounding, body aching, desperate to get moving.

But he was not in any pain. Credence brought his hands forward, and turned them over, staring at the skin illuminated in the morning sunshine, and he could not believe it.

After having had the worst beating of his life, which he knew had happened, how could it not? Yet, his body looked undamaged beyond the usual. Unchanged, unmarked except for the scars on his palms and the back of his hands were faint, silvery marks and pink streaks, but there was no blood, and no stinging.

As if he’d imagined the entire thing.

Credence sat up in bed, and ended up pushing away a blanket, black with red stitching, and his heart almost stopped. That was not his.

That had not been on him when he fell asleep, passed out from the overwhelming torture on his body. He rubbed his fingers together, and looked down to find the blue silk scarf, clean it had been when… the man, had placed it around his neck.

What was going on?

No one was around, no one would have to know, so Credence, in a fit of madness, brought the blue fabric up to his lips, almost close enough to kiss it, and whispered,

“Mister Graves.”

A moment passed, and anticipation hung thick in the air, before there was a sound like a twig snapping, and suddenly there was a thud as the man himself appeared out of nothingness, and landed on the floor across the room from him.

“What the fuck?”

The man was saying, getting to his feet a bit slowly, and Credence could smell something sharp and almost medical in the air, alcohol, _strong_ alcohol, and when Mister Graves, for of course it was he, turned to face him, Credence shrunk back, worried he’d just made a dire mistake.

“Credence…”

The man’s voice fell to a whisper, and his eyes widened, focused on him, and he nodded.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to know if it would work…”

“You actually wanted to see me? To summon me?”

Credence dwelled on the words, noting how similar they were to apply equally to God and the Devil, and he didn’t even realize he was sitting in bed, naked from the waist up, until Mister Graves stepped closer, and he shrunk back further, arms crossing over himself.

It felt like he’d done it before. But in a different manner, to try and protect himself from the blows of a belt.

He blinked.

Mister Graves had said something, albeit a little slurred.

He had been drinking, a lot, Credence suspected.

Never had he seen the man looking anything short of perfect and composed, and he still did, but as if he was blurry, or a glass, beginning to crack at the edges.

“I thought you hated me.”

He was looking at Credence as if he couldn’t quite believe he was really there, and he could only shake his head,

“No. Never. I would do anything to keep seeing you. It’s just because of my mother…”

Credence glanced away, and down to the ground, unsure how to explain, truly.

The creature inside his chest was already stirring to life, revived by the man’s presence, even as he knew it was wrong, knew he was supposed to be forgetting the man ever existed and cared about him or had helped him.

“What if you could leave?”

Credence blinked over at him, confused, and suddenly aware of how close he’d gotten, looming over him, still hunched in his bed,

“I can’t. I have nowhere to go.”

Mister Graves smiled sadly,

“You could. You can stay with me.”

Credence was shaking his head already, thousands and hundreds and dozens of reasons why he couldn’t, even as the creature was screaming that he should, flooding his mind.

Modesty, Chastity, all the other children he had to care for and look out for. None of whom ever seemed to return the favor. The voice was saying.

During his brutal beating, no one had tried to stop their mother.

If it had really happened.

“I healed you.”

Mister Graves was saying, a desperate edge to his voice, just shy of pleading.

Credence looked at himself, at the many scars crisscrossing his chest and probably twice as many littering his back, and he looked up to meet the man’s dark gaze,

“You did? Why?”

_‘Why did you do such a thing and then leave?’_

He didn’t say.

“I thought you were dead, I feared the worst when my friend told me she hadn’t seen you all week. I _care_ about you Credence, even though I shouldn’t.”

Credence was holding his breath,

“Why not?”

Sinful, wrong, dirty, shameful, everything Mary Lou had called him before attacking him was on the tip of his tongue.

“Because of who I am, and what you are.”

Mister Graves said finally, with an air of defeat.

The creature was saying;

_‘unworthy’_

_‘useless’_

_‘pathetic’_

…yet Credence was dying to know, what truly could keep them apart.

“What am I?”

Mister Graves reached out and put a hand to his cheek, and he could feel the man shaking against him,

“You’re…”

His fingers dragged along Credence’s face, and he brought his thumb to rub across his lips and with his heart pounding in his ears, he parted them, memories of their kiss running through his mind, blinding him to any and all good sense.

“So beautiful.”

Mister Graves whispered, and pressed his thumb between Credence’s lips, and he took it, kissing and daring to dart his tongue out to lick the man’s skin. He tasted like alcohol and something bitter.

“I’m not like most men Credence. I’m different.”

He sounded sad for it, and Credence hated it, he didn’t want the man to suffer for being too good for him. It should have been the other way around, he should have been begging Mister Graves to reconsider, to take him away, and he’d do anything. Give his soul right then and there.

Let him take him on the bed, in the church building itself. His mother thought the worst of him already, what harm was there in merely bringing truth to her accusations?

None really.

“Everything I’ve ever done for you, was not by chance, was not some trick of the light. It’s…”

Mister Graves looked up, suddenly aware of something Credence could not yet see or hear.

“Someone’s coming.”

His hand dropped from Credence’s face and mouth, and he was reaching inside his coat, pulling out a long thin stick of wood, and holding it not quite like a flashlight, but perhaps a weapon, a small sword.

Credence blinked.

That object was what was on every banner NSPS ever hung when a meeting gathered. Surrounded by flames, a symbol of the enemy. Of witches.

Mister Graves was one of them.

*

Percival had been halfway torn between going out for something to eat, and making a sober-up potion, when he’d been knocked over by his coat flying at him, and felt a tug around his navel, indicating he was being summoned.

It wasn’t until he landed across from a rickety desk and in a cramped room that he realized it hadn’t been work.

It was Credence.

He was curled up atop his bed, still holding the scarf, and the blanket Percival had left him under was pushed to his feet, and he was only wearing his pants, chest and arms bared, and skin somewhat improved from his healing less than two days before.

Drinking so much had been a mistake, and it had enveloped Percival’s entire weekend, off and on waking before falling back into a delirious sort of sleep.

It wasn’t until he’d heard footsteps on the stairs that he knew he had to make a decision, risk exposing the truth to the horrible woman, or leave Credence behind to face her wrath.

A third option hadn’t even occurred to him, and it was staring him right in the face, as Credence looked at him, dark eyes wide, and focused on one thing, what he was holding in his hand. He hadn’t even remembered drawing his wand, but there he was, at the ready, fight or flight instinct screaming in his mind.

“Take my hand.”

He finally said, choosing.

Credence didn’t even hesitate, he tugged the blanket and scarf along with him, trailing behind him like some kind of cape, and took the hand Percival was holding out to him.

Turning on his heel, he thought he could see the hint of a limb as someone approached, but it was too late, they were already gone.

They landed inside Percival’s living room, and Credence fell to his knees, gasping for air.

Side along apparition was not something he was used to performing, and of course, the boy would be overwhelmed.

But it had been an emergency.

“I’m sorry, I’m not at my best.”

It pained him to admit it, and he didn’t even look at the boy as he walked into the kitchen, only one target in sight, the final vial of sobering potion he _knew_ he had.

Tasted like swallowing a slug, but it instantly brought him clarity, and stopped the pounding in his head. Unfortunately, it meant that all of the voices of reason were now full force, and when he returned to find Credence still on the ground, pulling the blanket around him like a shield, he was regretting what he’d done.

“Mister Graves, you’re not an angel, and you’re not the Devil either… you’re a witch.”

Percival nodded, he just was tired of lying, tired of pretending. He didn’t want to scare the boy, but he was also desperate to prove he wasn’t any threat, he was no danger, if the boy wanted to leave, and surely, why wouldn’t he? The door was right there.

“You’re right. I am a… well, in the wizarding world, I am considered a wizard, and ladies are witches. But otherwise, yes.”

“All those things you did, every time you healed me, or visited me, it was magic. Not God.”

Percival sighed,

“Yes. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing to you.”

Credence almost shouted, and the force of it startled him,

“No! I think it’s incredible. I’m so grateful. Glad to know you won’t be requiring my soul…”

He looked as if he wanted to smile, and Percival was tempted to do the same.

“Of course not. I don’t expect anything in return. Ever.”

Credence was getting to his feet, slow, unsteady, like a newborn fawn,

“Are you sure? You said I can have anything I ask for… shouldn’t it be the other way around? You’ve given me so much… I owe you something.”

Percival couldn’t move away, couldn’t even think, he was frozen as the boy approached him, wrapped in the blanket but otherwise still exposed from the waist up, and he was standing straight, confident in a way he’d never seen him. He was startled to note the boy was a little taller than him, even barefoot as he was, with Percival still clad in his house shoes.

“Mister Graves, can I…?”

Percival was still staring at him, hands twitching somewhat at his sides, unsure what to do with them, as the boy was ever closer, so much so that it was dizzying to look at him but to find a point of focus, and his eyelashes, and the freckles scattered over his cheeks from days and days in the sun with only a hat to protect him were a good starting point.

He just nodded, and the boy gave him a shy smile, and then leaned in the rest of the way, pressing soft lips to the corner of his mouth, a ghost of a kiss.

The boy only lingered a moment, hands still holding the blanket, and Percival chased after his perfect pink mouth, making it a proper kiss, only to feel Credence jump in surprise, and drop the blanket, as arms wrapped around him, pulling him flush to Percival’s body.

Finally a proper hug and it was anything but innocent.

His hands splayed against Credence’s bare back, and the boy moaned into the kiss, parting his lips almost automatically, so that Percival could taste him. He probably hadn’t eaten in days, yet he tasted like fire and smoke, as if he’d snuck a cigarette and swallowed it whole.

It wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t human.

Percival opened his eyes and nearly broke the kiss at once, as dark curls of smoke were dancing over Credence’s body, not with malice or evil intent, but merely like an extension of him, and when the boy’s eyes opened, there was a red glow to the darkness.

“Mister Graves…”

He pulled away and looked almost like he was pouting.

“What’s this?”

Percival was afraid the smoke would vanish as soon as Credence noticed it, but it didn’t, simply shrunk and dissipated slowly,  

“I thought it was my sins, following me, haunting me, until it spoke to me in my dreams. I always feel better around you Mister Graves… can you help me?”

Percival was already fumbling for his wand, trying to cast a spell to properly scan the boy, and he didn’t look frightened, only hopeful.

“It’s magic all right. Strong magic. You might even be…”

The attacks had been less frequent in the past months and sporadic even. Could it be?

Could _he_ be the one?

Credence still watched him, looking less sure by the moment,

“Magic? In me? How is that possible?”

Percival smiled gently at him, and reached out a hand to cup his cheek, a gesture the boy leaned into, and almost nudged at, like a cat seeking out a touch.

“Suppressed power can sometimes emerge in times of fear or of great joy. If I’m right, you’ve had this power for so long, it can’t help but try and escape sometimes. Perhaps at night is when you are most relaxed, and when you sleep, and see things, it’s because of this magic.”

“You’re not afraid of me though?”

Percival shook his head,

“Of course not, my boy. You have massive potential just as I always said. It’s in a bit of a different form, but still very much true.”

“So I can stay here, with you?”

Percival couldn’t help smiling a bit more,

“As long as you like.”

“Thank you.”

Words that were left unsaid Percival suspected fell along the lines of, how could Credence pay for that, how would he continue to give him presents and such if he was now a full time guest?

The scarf was sort of in a pile of sapphire silk on the floor and Percival moved to retrieve it, with just a flick of his fingers, and Credence flushed.

“I’m sorry. I should have used it sooner, I know.”

“It’s quite all right. You didn’t need me until you needed me.”

“I always did, I think. I was just afraid you didn’t really want anything from me, but what I could give to you in return for your favor. My mother said I was no better than a whore.”

Percival bristled. Of course she did.

“Well she is wrong. I want nothing more than your happiness.”

“What about your happiness?”

Credence looked at him so earnestly, and he could almost forget how much power the boy possessed, but seemed incredibly unaware,

“What about it?”

“You said you care about me… but in what way? Not like a father does for a son. You kissed me. You let me kiss you.”

Percival fisted one of his hands at his sides, feeling his coat threatening to smother him. It was far too warm inside his apartment, and Credence didn’t know what he was asking.

He had slipped up, he had said too much.

“I want you safe. Out of danger. You are here, and so you are.”

He turned away from the boy, and started to take his coat off, sending it to the rack with a flick of his wrist, and before he could move, he felt Credence at his back, hugging him tight, desperately, from behind, both slim arms around his waist,

“Please, Mister Graves… I want to be good to you. For you.”

The boy wanted to kill him with kindness, it seemed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry late christmas! currently working on something VERy different outside my comfort zone, i hope yall will like it or at least not tell me if you hate it...

Credence didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d never felt so warm, so comfortable, and protected. Mister Graves was trying to be strong, trying to resist him, he could see it and feel it in his body language, yet the man could not stop touching him, talking to him, and when he asked, when he pleaded, the man relented.

He pulled him to the couch nearest the fire, and sat down beside Credence, taking his hand, and explaining that what he’d done, what he’d started out to do, was merely make his life a bit better, and he’d never meant to develop… feelings.

Credence lost a bit of focus after that, eyes glazed and staring at the bits of Mister Graves’ neck he could see inside his open collar, and wondering how fast he could undo the buttons of his vest and shirt if he really tried, and maybe if he could even channel his magic, that the man said he had, to aid in such an endeavor.

“I really feel like, it would be best if you just got some rest, and we can resume things, if you want, in the morning.”

Credence couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The man was denying himself of what he truly wanted, _again_?

Credence had spent his entire life trying to suppress his true nature, it seemed, and now, he was so close, it would not do.

“Mister Graves, stop. You’re saying no with your lips, but your eyes are begging me to stay here, with you, right now.”

Their hands were already linked, and Credence put one of Mister Graves’ to his chest, to where his heart was pounding, and the man followed the movement, before looking up to meet his eyes, darkness enough to drown in, Credence mused.

“If it’s what you really want…”

He nodded, and then Mister Graves was pulling him close, almost into his lap, and putting his lips against his own, hurried and frantic, as if they didn’t have all the time in the world.

Credence lifted a hand to run it through the man’s hair, ruining the perfect style at the cost of feeling just how soft the darkness felt.

Very.

Mister Graves groaned into the kiss, but it might have been from the way Credence shifted on his lap, trying to press against his hips with his suddenly aching groin.

He’d never touched himself, not once, not since the day he’d woken up a mess thanks to a dream, and had wished Mister Graves would do it instead.

He’d only thought of it a few times, considered it something the man might request to help even the debt, and he would have done it willingly, yet he never had.

Now there was nothing more that he wanted.

“Please, touch me.”

Credence broke the kiss to gasp, and when Mister Graves complied, dragged a hand from grasping at his hip in a desperate manner to cup the front of his pants, he swore his vision whited out for a few seconds.

It felt almost as good as that first bar of chocolate had tasted.

“Is this good for you, do you want me to stop?”

Mister Graves was saying, lips just kissing the side of Credence’s neck, and he could only nod, delirious with pleasure, something he rarely felt at all, but for when he was with the man,

“Don’t stop please.”

With a flick of his fingers, he’d vanished Credence’s pants, and finally bare skin was rubbing against his cock, the head of it almost dripping into the man’s hand, so desperate, and eager, he could hear the man chuckling against his ear, lips barely leaving his skin for more than a moment.

“Anything for my boy…”

Credence was leaning forward, pressing his head against the man’s shoulder, trying to find an anchor in the hurricane of sensation, and Mister Graves was panting into his ear, as if he was just as lost.

“M-mister Graves, it feels so good I think…”

He couldn’t even finish the thought, he was gone, down, spiraling into the darkness, feeling wave after wave of pleasure hitting him, shorting out his nerves, and when Mister Graves kissed him again with a bite to it, he barely noticed.

“Do you know what just happened?”

Mister Graves was asking, his voice low, a husky rumble, and Credence just shook his head, still floating among the clouds, but almost ready to drift back down to earth.

“You had an orgasm, the first of many I hope you to have with me.”

Credence just hummed, and Mister Graves waved a hand to clean away the mess, before standing up, cradling him in his strong arms,

“Somewhere more comfortable I think…”

When he stopped, and set Credence down, it was on a soft mattress, and he swore it felt rather like a cloud ought to.

He fought a yawn for as long as he could, and heard Mister Graves chuckling again, and when he cracked open his eyes, he saw the man standing over him, looking at him with something like fondness in his eyes.

“Sleep. You need your rest.”

He was already tugging a blanket up and over Credence, blessedly covering his nudity, and just before he turned to go, he shot out a hand to grab the man’s wrist.

“Wait. Won’t you stay with me?” His words were already slurred from exhaustion, and he could feel his eyelids trying to close. Credence got the sense he was already in the man’s bed, so he shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch for practicality’s sake.

“You want me to?”

He just nodded, and he thought he could imagine Mister Graves’ slow smile.

“All right.”

Credence had almost drifted off to sleep, when he felt the man crawling into bed beside him, and he smiled too, before sliding a bit closer, and he could feel an arm, strong and protective wrap around his shoulders.

*  
Percival woke up to a warm body clutching his, and very cute little snores leaving Credence’s throat. Almost too soft to be heard, but they were there. Perhaps some latent allergy or sinus thing he’d not even been aware of.

Well a full checkup would be in order, to confirm just how much magic he was in possession of, as well as if any other sorts of maladies afflicted him.

He certainly looked healthier than Percival had ever seen him, and as the boy was perfectly cozy in his arms, he had a rosy sort of flush to his cheeks, hollow as they still were.

He couldn’t help reaching up and touching Credence, just a slow caress of his cheek, and the boy shifted, and the snoring stopped. Percival worried he’d just broken the spell, awoken him too soon, but when his eyes started to open slowly and he blinked over at him, he smiled, and it was like the sun peeking over the horizon.

“Hi.”

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Credence looked around just briefly, and he must have suspected that Percival had climbed into bed without pajamas, which was correct, and also led to more of a blush.

“Good. Better than I ever have I think. Thanks to you.”

Percival was grinning broadly now,

“Is that right?”

Credence nodded again, and then snuggled closer, a horizontal hug, as his arms wrapped around all of Percival he could reach.

“Very good.”

Before he realized what the boy was doing, he was being pinned on his back, and Credence had swooped down to kiss him and the jolt of heat that shot down his spine had seemingly come out of nowhere, but was quite welcome.

“Is this okay?”

Credence was saying, lips brushing against Percival’s, his words a hushed whisper, and he nodded, reached down to grasp the boys hips, and then thrust up against them, ripping a moan from Credence’s throat.

“Very okay.”

Rather than even having to suggest engaging in any sort of morning delight, Credence seemed to lead the charge, blossoming under positive physical contact, and barely letting Percival go with enough time to jump in the shower and be able to make it to work in a respective amount of time.

He ran through instructions for what to do if he needed to contact him at MACUSA and told him to please feel free to eat anything in the kitchen, just not everything.

He’d winked at that, and Credence had ducked his head, and nodded.

Seeing Tina that morning was no less awkward but he managed to dodge every question properly until she asked why he looked so chipper if he’d skipped his usual coffee.

“Just, slept well, that’s all.”

“Right. Did you find out where Credence has been? Is he okay?”

Percival blinked. He wasn’t a very good liar, usually, and it was a good thing, most days.

“He’s in good hands now. I’ll be sending you the latest update on the NSPS as soon as I can finish drafting it.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made for the elevators before she could catch him, and tried not to look too relieved to have escaped.

He was almost amazed to make it through the entire day without any alerts, or summons from Credence, and so, in his haste to leave, he actually skipped his lunch break and refrained from any smoking breaks, which he knew Tina would notice, he could only hope she wouldn’t try and interrogate him again over it.

Returning to his apartment building, he noted it was still standing, so Credence had managed to keep from setting anything on fire at least, and probably hadn’t attempted cooking anything difficult.

When he walked into the apartment he found the boy sitting on the chair by the fire, asleep, with a staggering amount of books stacked in front of and around him.

His cheek was resting on a hand atop the left arm, and so Percival approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him unduly, before dragging a hand over his shoulder, and up to pet his hair.

“Honey I’m home.”

It was a joke, and not even that funny, but it was loud enough to wake the boy, and he stirred slowly, looking up to find Percival, and giving him that dangerously pretty smile.

“How was work?”

“Oh you know. Typical magical chaos. Tomorrow I’ve taken the morning off so we can go out and get some things. Hungry?”

He glanced to the kitchen, and saw nothing out of place, not even a napkin.

Credence was getting to his feet, shakily, and shrugging.

“Yes, I could eat. I didn’t want to make a mess, so I just thought I’d wait for you.”

Percival turned around to blink at him, astonished.

“You haven’t eaten all day?”

Credence shook his head, suddenly looking a bit frightened.

Percival hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he was just confused, that the boy was used to such things, and still somehow suffering in silence, even while in his care.

“Credence… why?”

He was biting his lip,

“I’m sorry. I just… don’t want to do anything wrong. I don’t want to be a bad guest.”

Percival sighed, and sent his coat to the tree with a flick of his wrist,

“Starving yourself as my guest is pretty bad, but I understand, I think. Come now, let’s have a snack while dinner is cooking.”

Afterwards, during the meal Percival had tried to ignore just how delicately and politely Credence ate, though he had to be in clear discomfort, they sat on the couch, and he asked about the books.

“Did you find anything specific you like?”

Credence nodded,

“I really enjoyed the book of fairy tales, and the history of the magical schools.”

Percival chuckled, carefully putting his arm around the boy, which he quickly responded to, leaning against him and pressing so close they might have been hugging.

“Well, I hope they keep you entertained. I’m not certain if I can get any extra time off soon, but believe me, I will try. I know I definitely want to take you to the opera sometime, if you’d like.”

He hadn’t even been planning anything, but it was one of many ideas he’d had, even before he’d thought about getting Credence out of his hell house.

“Really?”

Credence was watching him, wide eyed and pink lipped, and Percival could only nod, staring far longer than he needed to.

“Do you wear a tuxedo, and a white silk scarf?”

Percival chuckled,

“Sometimes, why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. Do you have a box you sit in, or just anywhere you like?”

“It depends how I feel. If the play is one I’ve been looking forward to, I don’t want any distractions, then yes, I’ll get a box.”

He dropped his hand to Credence’s knee, and rubbed gently, and he could almost see the full body shudder run along his spine.

“What do you want me to do tonight? I didn’t get to… for you last night.”

Percival squeezed his eyes shut, and looked away,

“You don’t have to think of it like that. I had just as much enjoyment watching you, and besides, I’m so used to taking care of myself, since I met you, I don’t want you to feel you _have_ to do anything.”

“What if I want to?”

Credence was reaching wantonly for his crotch, and before Percival could stop him, using his slim fingers to undo the button and lower the zipper, and breathing became very difficult,

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

Despite the lack of confidence, though still plenty of interest, Percival watched as the boy fairly skillfully pulled out his cock and gave it a few tugs, as if merely acquainting himself with it before attempting in earnest to try and please him.

It wasn’t until he was moving off the couch and getting on his knees in front of Percival that he found his words,

“What are you doing?”

“I want to try something I’ve heard of. Seen once by accident in an alleyway, tell me if I do it wrong.”

Percival tried to make sense of that until Credence ducked down to brush his lips over the head of his cock and that was when all coherent thought left his head, and he leaned back to rest his neck against the couch, and tried to keep from thrusting up into the hot and wet mouth.

Instead, he put one hand on his knee and the other carefully in Credence’s hair, hoping he wasn’t gripping too painfully, as he felt the boy’s tongue press on the underside of the shaft.

It was heavenly and torture all at once, and Percival decided as soon as he was able, he’d need to return the favor.

Though the boy’s movements were sloppy and not practiced, thank god, he was doing incredibly well, so quiet, and determined, trying his best to take Percival’s cock as deep as he could at a time, and kept his teeth from ever touching the skin.

It wasn’t until Credence pulled back to look up with several blinks to his dark eyes that Percival dared breathe a word.

“You . . . are incredible.”

“I’m doing it right?”

Credence’s hand was still moving over him, slow and easy strokes and Percival nodded,

“Oh yeah. I think, for your first, it’s probably easily in my top five, maybe three.”

“Really?”

Credence had a giddy sort of smile, and Percival couldn’t help echoing it. Seeing him so happy was infectious.

He wanted to kiss him, but he also kind of wanted to come down his throat.

“Do you want to finish me here, or do you want…”

Credence nodded, and leaned back down, barely giving Percival a hint of warning before pulling him back into his mouth, and sucking a bit hard, stroking a little faster, and it was barely over in under a minute.

Percival would have been embarrassed, but it was just, weeks and months had been building up to that moment, so he really couldn’t have helped himself.

Credence sat back on his heels, delicately wiping his mouth with a finger or two, and having already swallowed, how very economical of him, and he practically beamed up at Percival.

“Well, did you like it?”

“Oh yes, very much.” He couldn’t resist a chuckle, and then he reached down to cup both sides of the boy’s face, bringing him up close for a kiss, ignoring the startled little noise he made, and just focused on ravishing his mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter yay!

“Mister Graves, do you think-?”

The man cut him off with a smile, and shake of his head,

“Please, now that you’re my guest, call me Percy. What were you saying?”

Credence looked down at where Mister Graves… Percy was touching him slowly, as they both lounged atop his bed, somehow all their clothes had vanished, and he had forgotten his question.

“I forgot.”

Percy was smirking, and leaning down to press an obscenely open mouthed kiss to his stomach, just to the right and down from his navel, his ultimate destination quite obvious, judging by the way he was moving his hand over Credence’s cock.

He was scared he couldn’t last very long, it had been a wonderful morning when he’d woken up in the man’s arms, but he had thought about him all day, and when he’d returned and been so kind and oh, the way it felt when Mister Graves… Percy, the wonderful man put his lips on his cock, it was better even than just a hand on him.

“Please…”

It was as if he could feel the man smiling around his cock, and he couldn’t control his hips, the movements erratic and unconscious, as Percy continued the blissful torture, he thought surely, that he might die from it.

It felt too good.

Credence could feel his back starting to tickle with sweat, as he fought with everything in him not to finish, not to _orgasm_ yet, but Percy was relentless, and his lips and tongue and hand on his balls, fingers just slightly touching and more than enough, he gave in, and fell over the edge.

“Hunngh…”

His hands had ruined Percy’s hair, and he didn’t even feel bad.

“Mmm, I think my new favorite thing is watching you come. You look like an angel.”

Credence could feel his blush spreading over his entire body, and when Percy climbed up to snuggle against his back, the man dragged a hand down his hip to pull him flush against his body.

“If you’re still awake or if you want me to wake you up, I’ll be up for another.”

Credence’s eyes were wide, and he turned around to look at the man,

“You mean, you can do it again that fast?”

Percy chuckled, and hugged him tight,

“Of course. I think you’re a special kind of addictive.”

The man pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder, and Credence shivered, but not from cold.

“Thank you.”

“So just get some rest, and I’ll wake you up, if you want me to.”

Credence just nodded, already feeling sleepy, and Percy squeezed his hip before moving his hand back to the front of his body, resting it on the mattress.

However it wasn’t Credence who fell asleep first, it was Percy. The sound of his breathing slowed, and his arm grew heavy over his waist, and before Credence could stop himself, he was smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks.

He’d never felt so comfortable, and cared for.

He closed his eyes, and didn’t open them again until the morning, when Percy was kissing him awake, first on the cheek, then the nose, and then on his lips, and he smiled then too.

*

When Credence had gotten a bit more at ease, and Percival had taken him in for a full checkup, no adverse effects from the power that he’d been containing over almost a decade, they’d gone to get him a wand, and though he wasn’t up to using it often, he appeared so happy it made Percival’s eyes sting.

“What do you think about going to the opera this weekend?”

It was barely the second week of January so still quite cold out, and he had gotten the boy a new coat, but he wanted to find him a suit to wear, to see just how well he could clean up for such a fancy occasion.

“Okay.”

He smiled, and Percival got the sense maybe he was just happy to go anywhere with him, so he squeezed his hand, and grinned back.

“It’s one I’ve seen before, but I know you’ll love it.”

 

Side along apparition again, and that time, Credence barely stumbled upon landing, and he looked up at Percival with awe in his dark eyes, as he took in the sight of the opera house.

It was shielded from No-Majs, but of course, it took minimal power for Credence to see through the charms, and Percival was amazed he’d managed to hide from the boy for as long as he did.

“Do you have a box?”

The boy whispered, conspiratorial as they walked along, arm in arm, and he nodded. Dressed in black and white, with black leather gloves for good measure, even though he hadn’t driven anywhere, he glanced over at his companion, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning wide.

Credence looked incredibly handsome himself, hair finally wrangled and charmed into something flattering, with a brand new suit and shiny leather shoes. He looked the part of a gentleman, and only his staring at every little thing gave him away as a guest, a first timer, to the magical glittering world that was the opera.

As they took their seats, Percival shucked off his coat, and helped Credence out of his. The building was kept quite warm in the wintertime, but for the stage, where the singers could often overheat from just the lights, so two separate atmospheres existed.

It took a fair bit of clever magic, and Percival could see Credence trying to figure out a way to ask him about it. That was one new thing he’d discovered. Besides being able to see through most lazy spells, he could somehow sense other magic in use, and even see it in the air sometimes, if it was strong enough.

“Are you excited?”

Percival was asking him, and the boy turned to nod eagerly.

“What can you tell me about the story?”

Percival licked his lips,

“I don’t what to give too much away, but there is a hint of romance, woven throughout every single song.”

“Oh. That sounds wonderful.”

Percival smirked,

“I thought you might like that my boy.”

The lights dimmed, and the orchestra began warming up, and Credence sat forward in his chair, eyes glued to the stage, one hand resting beneath his chin, the other still wrapped in Percival’s hand.

It wasn’t until about halfway through the show that he found himself growing less interested in watching what was on stage than observing his companion, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep his hands off of him.

At first, it was just a hand on his knee, while his arm fell about the boy’s shoulders, and he leaned in to nuzzle a kiss below his ear,

“You know how good you look tonight? You’ve made me the envy of the house.”

Credence broke his staring context with the stage, and ducked his head, a blush coloring his cheeks,

“No, I think everyone would be jealous that I’m with you.”

Percival hummed thoughtfully and then nibbled slightly over the boy’s neck, before kissing at the spot, and Credence groaned, low in his throat, aware of how many people they were nearby.

“What are you doing?”

“Just entertaining myself, do you mind?”

Credence was stammering now,

“But what if someone sees us?”

Percival chuckled,

“I can cast a charm, or you could… or we could just be quiet…”

“I don’t know how quiet I can be…”

Percival moved his still gloved hand up from Credence’s knee to palm his already hardening cock beneath his new trousers and hummed again,

“Oh I think you’ll learn.”

He used his other hand, at the side of Credence’s shoulder to turn him just enough to be able to capture his lips in a kiss as he rubbed his other hand on the boy’s cock, feeling him squirm and try to fight the urge to press his hips harder to seek more friction.

Credence’s lips parted within a few seconds, and Percival deepened the kiss, wondering if there was any chance he could get on his knees and not be seen by half the house.

The coat.

He smirked against the boy’s lips and then pulled away, still keeping his hand on Credence’s cock, but slowing his movements,

“Put your coat over your lap.”

“Why?”

Credence was just falling into the blissed out stage he got from kissing, and just the right amount of groping to get him worked up.

He’d gotten much better over the last few days, managing to hold off coming a whole five minutes one night.

Credence did as he was told, he always was good at that, Percival had found, and then he winked at him, before kneeling down, and scooting beneath the coat, so there was nothing scandalous visible, as he tugged off his gloves and set them on his empty chair, he then turned his attention to begin undoing the button and zipper fly of Credence’s pants.

“What –?”

Percival leaned down to tease the tip of the boy’s cock with his lips, just a kiss here and there, and then a lick down the length of the shaft, all the while Credence’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair, and fought the urge to touch him.

It wasn’t as if he had ordered the boy _not_ to, but Percival supposed he was trying to maintain the illusion of the opera-goer, and he didn’t want to appear distracted.

Didn’t matter, he was about to be.

Percival brought his hand up to reach inside the boy’s pants and fondle his balls, as he pressed closer, and took him halfway into his mouth, tongue fluttering against the underside of his cock, and he saw before he felt Credence arch his back and thrust deeper,

“Please, Mister Graves…”

He was so pretty when he begged.

Not wanting to keep his angel waiting, Percival tightened his lips and moved his tongue that much faster, as he slid his hand further back, fingers just teasing beyond Credence’s balls, and it was almost immediate, the gasp that escaped him as he came, hips stuttering against him, forcing him to nearly choke on the boy’s release, but it tasted so good, he couldn’t let a drop go to waste.

He carefully backed up, ensuring not a speck would get on the still new pants, and looked up at Credence from beneath his coat, almost like a blanket overhead.

“Good?”

He was being sarcastic, but the way Credence managed to look indignant and utterly wrecked from orgasm was fairly alluring.

“Get back in your seat. Before someone sees.”

Percival chuckled low, like a threatening growl,

“And leave you exposed for the entire house? I should think not.”

It was as if the boy hadn’t even considered, and when he looked down at himself, Percival was already kissing him gently on his softening cock and tucking him away carefully.

His knees weren’t quite screaming at him when he got up, and threw the coat behind them on the extra chair, but if Credence got any better at holding out, they might start.

“Now, tell me that wasn’t fun.”

A kiss to the cheek, and Percival could feel how heated his skin was. He might have even been sweaty below the collar.

The idea of peeling him out of the nice suit and licking him all over was fairly appealing, but it would have to wait.

Lights were coming up, and intermission was upon them.

“Just in time eh?”

He winked, and Credence huffed an adorable sigh.

“I think I could use a drink, how about you?”

“Okay. Yes, thank you.”

Percival stepped out into the hallway to summon a steward and as he was returning to the box, he caught sight of a familiar head of dark curls, and a flash of diamonds on navy.

“Tina?”

*

Credence could hear Percy arguing with someone, a lady, so he got up from his chair to go investigate, and he found the man out in the hallway with the witch he’d met so many months ago.

“Miss Tina!”

The woman looked over at him with something like horror in her eyes, and she turned back to Percy with a harsh curl to her lip,

“What are you doing with _him?_ I thought you said he was somewhere safe, being protected… not preyed upon!”

Percy was insisting it wasn’t what it looked like, and Credence was very confused, verging on hurt. Miss Tina was looking more and more like his old mother by the second, even if she did have good intentions.

“He’s not a child, that’s true, but Mister Graves you know this is wrong, he’s too vulnerable to outside influence, he needs to be nurtured, not taken advantage of.”

She was eyeing his clothing, and her gaze lingered on his hair, and then his face, and he wondered if she could guess how his lips had gotten so pink and swollen. He didn’t care what she thought, but he wouldn’t have her thinking badly of Percy.

“He’s not done anything wrong. I wanted to come with him. He saved me.”

Miss Tina was still watching him, dark eyes wide with concern, and so Credence stepped over to hug Percy, to show her, he wasn’t afraid of him, or being coerced or manipulated in any way to stay with him.

“He has magical abilities Tina. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring him in to MACUSA yet, but I can, if Picquery insists. He’s not the one who’s been wreaking havoc on the city, but he might have caused a few, incidents, a while back.”

Percy was currently petting Credence’s hair, and he was already infinitely more relaxed. Before Miss Tina could say anything, the lights were flickering, once, twice, and it was time to go back inside their box.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

Percy’s voice left no room for arguments, and Miss Tina sighed, before nodding and walking away, giving Credence a small wave.

Back inside the box, Percy was pouring himself a drink, before thinking better of it and passing it to him, and then pouring a second glass.

“What was Miss Tina so upset about? Why does she think you were using me, or hurting me?”

Percy looked pained.

“Mostly because she worries. She doesn’t understand that you’re not a No-Maj yet, but I know she trusts my judgment. I suppose she also finds the nature of our… relationship questionable. Can’t say I blame her, but frankly, it’s none of her business.”

Credence blinked, and took a large sip from the glass before responding, in a hushed whisper as the lights had already gone back down,

“What is that? What is our relationship?”

Percy looked over at him, and then Credence was caught in a stare, lost in the darkness, the warm and welcoming twin black holes that were the man’s eyes.

“Why Credence, I should think that was obvious. I’m very, uh, fond of you. I would like you to stay with me, even after you’ve learned all that you can about magic… if you want.”

Credence carefully set his glass down, and reached over to pluck away Percy’s, who seemed so surprised he didn’t even question it, before he flung himself at the man, almost knocking him out of his chair with the force of his embrace.

“I’d love to.”

He whispered the words into the man’s neck, and almost at once felt strong arms return the hug, and he squeezed his eyes shut, the opera fading into background noise as he held on tight to his future.

*

**END**

 

 


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